


A Study in Familial Deception or Mummys Little Liars

by RubyGem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Sherlock, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, John Watson you keep me right, Light Angst, POV Original Character, Post-Canon, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Sherlock's Voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyGem/pseuds/RubyGem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes was challenging enough. By agreeing to his new scheme to get one over on Mycroft was Megan letting herself in for more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
I slowly focused on the wardrobe door my sluggish brain trying to work out why I was awake.  
'Megan!'  
I jerked my head toward the door as the muffled baritone reached my ears, then in a fit of frustration buried my face in the pillows. Well that answered that question. I should have known that the only logical reason for being awake before 10 on a Saturday morning would be that Sherlock bloody Holmes had decreed it. Choosing to ignore the repeated yells of my name, I kept my head buried and just adjusted it so I could breath again. As I was starting to drift back into a comfortable pre sleep daze, my phone vibrated on my bedside table. I instinctively grabbed for it, pulling short just before I reached it as the thought slowly trickled from my brain that it would be Sherlock. With that I pulled my arm back under the duvet and snuggled in.

14 minutes later I gave up. Sherlock Holmes has many qualities; persistence is one of them. Intelligence, brilliance, incredible self motivation, inflated sense of self importance and an amazing ability to infuriate the hell out of me are just a few others. I begrudgingly reached for the phone pulling up the 14 messages I had received at 1 minute intervals before caving in.  
\- Are you awake? SH (received 7.22)  
\- Meet me in the kitchen. SH (received 7.23)  
\- Why do you insist on sleeping so much? SH (received 7.24)  
\- It's so boring SH (received 7.25)  
\- Meet me in the kitchen now. SH (received 7.26)  
\- You are needed in the kitchen. SH (received 7.27)  
\- WAKE UP. SH (received 7.28)  
\- I have lost a digit and need your assistance to staunch the blood loss. SH (received 7.29)  
\- I have lost a limb and need your help to staunch the blood loss. SH (received 7.30)  
\- I have a perforated organ, your help needed to stop catastrophic blood loss. SH (received 7.31)  
\- Bleeding to death. Help. SH (received 7.32)  
\- Please. SH (received 7.33)  
\- Fine. I will call John. SH (received 7.34)  
\- John is not answering. I need you. SH (received 7.35)  
I hauled my arse out of bed pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie over the knickers and vest I slept in and, after putting on my slippers, made my way down the stairs from my room to the rest of the flat.

I moved into 221b Bakers Street 8 months ago. Living with Sherlock has been .....interesting. Who am I kidding there are no words to describe just how surreal the last 8 months had been. I had been warned before I signed the contract, by the landlady Mrs Hudson, that Sherlock could be difficult. I was also warned by John, Sherlock's old flatmate and best friend, that he was prone to doing intense, stupid and dangerous things. Things such as shooting the living room walls and travelling by tube covered in pig blood, carrying a harpoon. The thing is, when people tell you such fanciful tales, you tend to take them with a pinch of salt. You, or at least I, tend to assume the tale has been embellished and tweaked over time and therefore that living with Sherlock wouldn't be that bad. I was absolutely, totally, undeniably wrong.

The thing is, as annoying and egocentric as he is, living with him is.....exciting. I come home from work I don't know if I'm going to open the door to a quiet peaceful Sherlock free flat, a manic Sherlock pacing the floor, him crashed out on the sofa deep in his mind palace, or standing on the aforementioned sofa pulling his hair out staring at some complicated map of evidence and thoughts about a case that I will be dragged into. I don't know if I will find him in the kitchen intensely hunched over his microscope or open the fridge to find a bowl of eye balls staring at me. I therefore had no idea what sight would greet me as I reached the kitchen. For all I knew he actually could be injured, he had come back from cases before battered and bruised. The last thing I ever expected to find was Sherlock pouring boiling water into mugs with tea bags in. Sherlock was making tea. Two mugs of tea. Actual tea. Tea. Sherlock had never made me tea in 8 months. Never. I had made us both plenty of it but.....  
'Ah, you have finally graced me with your presence. ' He waved at a chair at the kitchen table placing a cup in front of it and taking the chair opposite himself, his own tea cup in hand. I admit I just stared at the mug in front of me for a few seconds before shaking myself out of it and sitting down.  
'So you don't seem so terribly injured, managed to stop the bleeding yourself then?'  
Yes. I may have slightly exaggerated my wounds.' A slight twitch of his lip the only tell of his amusement.  
'Glad as I am that you will live to solve another case, I am disappointed that I am up so early on a Saturday for no good reason.' With that said I looked at him with as disapproving a look as I could muster and reached for my mug.  
'You have a good reason, if you were not up we would not have the opportunity to drink tea together and chat.' His tone of optimistic cheer had me pause in bringing the mug to my lips and look up at him, to see him smiling at me widely and more importantly a completely fake smile. I have seen Sherlock smile genuine smiles, when he solves a 10 case, when he claims victory over his brother and occasionally at John. This was a fake smile. I glanced down at my mug suddenly remembering the story John had told me of the time Sherlock had put what he thought was a hallucinogenic in his tea.  
'I haven't put anything in it.' With that he took a sip from his cup. Then exchanged his for mine. 'Will that do for proof? 'I nodded in reply and took a sip from what had been his mug. It was ridiculously sweet but I continued to sip at it.  
'What do you want?' I asked pointedly raising an eyebrow.  
'Why do you assume I want something?' I just continued the stare at him with raised eyebrow.  
'Consulting detective I am not, but I can tell when I am being played. You want something, you are conforming to societies niceties in an attempt to cajole me into doing something for you. Let me stop you now. Just cut the crap, what do you need and why?'  
He sheepishly lowered his head and began. 'My parents are coming to town today and staying overnight. They are staying here. '  
'Ok I don't mind that. I assume you will be on the sofa then, actually I have a single blow up bed if you want to borrow that. It sometimes defl....'from the look on his face I knew there was more and undoubtedly worse to come.  
'What else?'  
'My parents....Mummy.....They happen to believe. ...' He paused collecting himself and with a steeling breath rattled out at his deducing pace. 'Mycroft informed my mother that I was in a romantic relationship with you a few months ago, she is expecting to come here to find us 'shacked up together'. Mycroft obviously did this in an attempt to get mummy to start up again about finding me a nice girl when I denied that we were in a relationship.' He paused. 'So I got one over on Mycroft by not denying it.'  
'Hang on your parents think we are romantically involved, because Mycroft told them so and you lied to them as well, because you didn't want to have a difficult conversation with your mother!'  
'No I would have ignored the conversation, but it would have upset mummy and I didn't want to do that about something so idiotic. But mostly I did it to see the look on Mycroft's face when his carefully executed plan didn't work. It was delicious.' The last sentence was uttered from a genuine smile a mile wide. 'He is insisting on collecting my parents from the station and bringing them here himself, so he can see the fall out when she finds out I lied. I thought you should have at least a little notice of what had happened before they arrived.'  
'I can't believe what children you are. You are both such serious, intelligent, respected men, but you act like such children when together. It is astounding and oddly endearing that even the great Holmes brothers are like the rest of the populations siblings.' He looked at me with a surprised expression.  
'I do so wish I had seen the look on his face when his plan failed, maybe I still could.' I said looking at Sherlock, my lips forming the beginning of a smirk at the prospect.

Mycroft Holmes once kidnapped me. I had been warned by John that it might happen, but as I said before I didn't really believe him. I had been living at 221b for 10 days at this point. Although I was completely unharmed Mycroft did for want of a better phrase 'creep me out'. A man you don't know can read you like a book, can follow your every move on C.C.T.V and has a whole secret service/government at his disposal, very creepy. The thing that upset me the most about the whole experience was that its main aim was to discourage me from living or even associating with his brother. If he does this to every person that ever comes in contact with his brother then it is a miracle that Sherlock had any friends at all. That is the main reason I dislike Mycroft, what kind of man pushes all his brothers opportunities for friendship away from him.

 

***********************************************************************************

 

I skipped up the stairs with the milk and a few other bits and bobs I had picked up at the shop. Letting myself in I hung my coat up and kicked my shoes off before taking a deep breath and walking confidently into the kitchen. All eyes turned on me. I smiled brightly and walked over to Sherlock's side. His hand lightly settled on the small of my back and he turned to the others in the room. 'Mummy, Father this is Megan. Megan these are my parents.'  
'Its a pleasure to finally meet you.'  
'And you dear ' piped in Sherlock's father, as Sherlock's mum just sort of stared at me, her eyes which were so similar to Sherlock's visibly tearing up.  
'I believe you have already met my brother.'  
'Yes we are already acquainted, always a pleasure Miss Dixon.'  
'Mycroft' I nodded and smiled widely at him as I reached down to hold Sherlock's hand, watching Mycroft's smug sneer turn to a barely covered look of confusion.  
'Sorry I wasn't here when you arrived I just had to get some milk. Tea or coffee anyone?'  
'Tea would be delightful wouldn't it dear?' Mr Holmes asked his wife.  
'Yes absolutely, let me help you.'  
'No wouldn't hear of it, you've been travelling all morning. Go and catch up with your boys there will be plenty of other tea making you can help me with later' With that I shooed them out of the kitchen. 'Mycroft, tea?'  
'Delightful' he said with a condescending smile that perfectly reflected the sarcastic tone in his voice.  
'And you darling?' Sherlock turned to me shocked but clocking the look of revulsion on his brothers face recovered taking two steps to me bending down and pressing a kiss to my cheek and whispering a  
'Yes please' in my ear. Before turning back to the door to see a beaming Mrs Holmes and a disgruntled Mycroft. 'Come on Mycroft I know you are on a tight schedule, countries to topple, elections to rig etc. and Mummy so wants to have a catch up before you leave, don't you Mummy?' And with that he pushed him through the door as I turned to the kettle trying not to think of the delicious thrill that had gone through me at that baritone voice whispering in my ear.

Having collected myself while the kettle boiled and the tea brewed I got some biscuits, arranged them on a plate and poured tea into a set of cups and saucers that Sherlock had pulled from the back of a cupboard when we were planning early that morning. Putting it all on a tray along with sugar I moved into the living room. Sherlock jumped up from his chair to help me. I almost died of shock at the sight and I was expecting it, his family looked completely confused at his helpfulness. Lifting two cups and saucers from the tray he handed them to his parents before passing them the biscuits. 'Sugar Mycroft?' I asked over my shoulder as I placed the tray on the coffee table.  
'One please.' I placed a spoonful in and bought that and the plate of biscuits over to him smiling sweetly the whole time. When I turned Sherlock was perched on the arm of his armchair with a cup held out to me, clearly implying I was to take the seat. I sat thinking to myself that he may be pushing the chivalrous act to far to make it believable. However after a few minutes of listening to the brothers bickering I realised he was pulling it off. Mycroft was pissed off, Sherlock was gloating and that I realised is what teenage boys would be like if one had a girlfriend and the other didn't and to all appearances I was Sherlock's first girlfriend. He was rubbing it in Mycroft's face, as long as I kept the displays of affection not just aimed at Mycroft it would be believable.

After a little while Mycroft went to take a phone call. 'How long have you known each other?' Mrs Holmes asked when Mycroft had left the room. I looked up at Sherlock. '8 months roughly' I replied.  
'8 months ,1 week and 5 days' replied Sherlock at the same time.  
'I defer to your eidetic memory' I said smiling and lightly touched his hip before leaving my hand on his thigh. 'I needed somewhere to rent at a decent price, and this place is roomy for the price in central London, Mrs Hudson is lovely and the location is perfect. Once Sherlock and I had ironed out our differences....' I lightly squeezed his thigh at that. 'Well I couldn't be happier. ' Sherlock looked down at me when I finished and smiled fleetingly. We continued to chat about my job, hobbies the normal questions your partners family ask until Mycroft came back into the room. As he came in I got up to start collecting the tea cups.  
'Unfortunately I have to go, something of importance has arisen, let me help you take those out to the kitchen on my way out Miss Dixon.'  
'Please call me Megan .'  
'Very well Megan, thank you for your hospitality Sherlock. I do hope you enjoy the ballet tonight Mummy and you too Father. I do hope to be available to take you back to Victoria tomorrow, until then.' with that he pressed a kiss to his mothers cheek and lifted the last cups from the table and joined me in the kitchen.  
'Thank you Mycroft'  
'You are welcome Megan. I really must dash but thank you for the tea.' As he reached the door to the hall he turned, 'Oh and Miss Dixon, well played to both you and my brother.' and with that he was gone with a twirl of his umbrella.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megan teaches Sherlock a little about relationships.

'Are you sure? You could sell them maybe or the theatre might refund them.' I said.  
'You have just been saying you have always wanted to go and never have...well you will go to the ball.' Sherlock's father said as he twirled around waving an imaginary wand through the air. Sherlock's parents could not be more humorous and friendly, it was so strange to think that Sherlock and Mycroft came from such normal parents.  
'I have nothing to wear.'  
'The grey dress at the back of your wardrobe, with the black velvet kitten wedges, black velvet wrap and the grey envelope purse will be sufficient. ' piped up Sherlock with a dismissing flick of his wrist in my direction before he folded himself back up on the chair and assumed his thinking position with his hands steepled under his chin.  
'Oh I suppose so. ' I paused considering it, I had wanted to go from the moment Sherlock's mum had offered us both the extra tickets they had, but I had assumed Sherlock wouldn't want to. He barely did anything that would constitute a leisure activity and I had never witnessed him do anything for other people's enjoyment over his own. Plus it would mean more hours of trying to pull this fake relationship off. But he was obviously willing to go, demonstrated in the way he had pointed out exactly what I could wear. Which of course meant he had been going through my room, I shouldn't be surprised, I was lucky he had just catalogued my things when he was bored, he could have used them for experiments or other weird purposes but when this was over we would need another conversation about the ground rules.  
'Well then we would love too, wouldn't we Sherlock?' He gave another dismissive wave of a hand and a slight nod. 'Let me go and get my things out of the wardrobe, then I'll be out of your way so you can start getting ready.' I said over my shoulder as I practical skipped up the stairs in my excitement. 

As I was on my hands and knees hunting out my velvet wedges Mrs Holmes called out from behind me. 'Can I help you at all dear?'  
No I'll be fine...actually could you help me find some jewellery, everything I own is on the dresser over there.'  
'Oh, absolutely, that's your dress?' she said pointing to the garment bag hanging off the wardrobe door.  
'Yep take it out, have a look' I said my head buried under the bed still searching for my shoes.  
'All your things are in this room.'  
'Yep' I responded quizzically, then I clocked what she was getting at. 'It is best that me and your son have our own space, I'm sure you can appreciate that when he's on a case it is easier if we have our own sanctuaries, and this room is further away when he is playing violin at 3 in the morning.' I finished with a laugh.  
'Yes I remember what he is like to live with.' she chuckling along. 'I just find this so...'  
'bizarre' I suggested, 'your not the only one. I find it strange, he finds it strange but it just seems to work. I have no idea why.'  
'You must have the patience of a saint dear.'  
'God no, I think its more that I don't take any of his shit.' With this she collapsed in giggles on the bed.  
'I would love to see that.'  
'Oh you undoubtedly will, he can only stay civil for so long. Come on help me find something to finish my outfit off.' I said brandishing the wedges over my head in victory as I got back on my feet.

Sherlock had good taste in women's clothing. My outfit went together perfectly and teamed with the grey pearl necklace, drop earrings and the messy side swept chignon fastened with a grey and black feather clip. I felt I hadn't scrubbed up badly. A grey smoky eyed look and I felt ready. Exiting Sherlock's room I was immediately met with an 'oohhh' from Mrs Holmes and Mr Holmes's agreement with a 'You look stunning dear.'  
Sherlock breezed back into the room in his normal tight shirt and bespoke suit combination, 'Brilliant I'll get a taxi. '  
'We'll get the taxi, you help Megan with her coat.' Said Mr Holmes directing his wife out the door and down the stairs. Sherlock unceremoniously grabbed my coat, turned to me and froze blinking rapidly. It is not often that Sherlock is wordless.  
'Um coat Sherlock?' I asked trying to contain the thrill at being able to render Sherlock speechless. He seemed to reboot then and come back to life moving behind me to slip my coat on my shoulders, before silently leaving the room and heading downstairs. 

The London Coliseum is a beautiful theatre, being in a stalls box was lovely, no squashing in with strangers. It was also very helpful in keeping Sherlock distracted. A bored Sherlock is like having a 3 year old with stomach ache with you; there is a lot of moaning and whining. He needed a distraction and fast before the fidgeting became a full blown bored tantrum. Sherlock reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone as he got my message.  
-Bored? M  
-No, fine. SH  
-Liar. M. On opening that message I earned myself a glare, before he had time for a cutting reply I hit send.  
-Do what you do best Mr Holmes....deduce. You have a whole theatre to pick apart at your leisure. Enjoy. M  
-Mr Holmes is my father or at a push Mycroft. My ability to deduce people in the dark at a distance is limited. Despite what others may say, I am human. SH.  
-I am aware of your human limitations. I am also aware that you have spent the 15 minutes it took people to get seated observing. Wow me with your skills Sherly! M  
-Never call me that. SH  
-Just trying out pet names. It's what couples do. M x  
-The couple in the front row of the dress circle, she is wearing a frankly shocking shade of pink. He is shorter than her by 3 inches and wearing a sage tie. They are having an affair together. x? SH  
-X, it's a kiss, a term of endearment people put on the end of messages to each other. Just another example of things couples do. How can you tell they are having an affair? M x  
-She booked the tickets. He agreed to coming thinking they would be tucked away at the back, however she surprised him by spending more money than she can really afford and getting better seats. He is clearly uncomfortable with being so visible. He is cheating on his wife, she doesn't know he is married. SH x  
-Ok next. M x  
Sherlock continued to text me deductions during the first half of the performance. At intermission when the lights came up I scanned the crowds picking out the subjects of his deductions. After taking drink orders Sherlock and I went to the bar. I ordered letting Sherlock concentrate on observing the patrons. Making our way back to the box he started to tell me some of his deductions. I interrupted him with 'save it, text me later.'

We had settled back into the remainder of the ballet, it was beautiful and I couldn't for the life of me work out why it had taken me 29 years to come to my first performance. Sherlock continued to text his deductions to me and by limiting most of my responses to 'ok next', unless it really intrigued me. I had managed to follow and enjoy the ballet.

-Did you see the group of men and women in the far corner of the bar earlier? The woman in the navy satin dress is a jewel thief. SH x  
This sounded farcical and far fetched even in Sherlock's world.  
-Really? The pretty short brunette woman? How did you reach this conclusion? M x  
-The man she was draped over is a jeweller, wearing too much high end jewellery to be anything else. You could tell from the way she looked at his jewellery that she knew its value, women are unlikely to know values of men's jewellery unless they sell it. However she is not a jeweller. SH x  
-How could you tell she wasn't? M x  
-A jeweller would have sufficient funds to buy a dress that suited them and have it fitted appropriately. The tag was clearly still in it so that she could return it to the store tomorrow. SH x  
-I thought the dress was pretty. M x  
-The dress in itself was aesthetically pleasing, but it did not make her look beautiful in it, unlike your dress tonight. She also had temporarily dyed her hair and wore it in tight curls so that by the time the theft is discovered her hair will be lighter and longer. SH x  
-Did you just compliment me? M x  
-It is what couples do I have been reliably informed. SH x  
-Touchè. M x

'Case?'  
'Possibly.' Sherlock had been texting a mile a minute for around half of our taxi ride home. The half before that he had spent huffing 'boring' to every conversation we were having.  
'Lestrade insists it's a 7. I am trying to get some details from him.'  
'Lestrade? Is he a friend of yours Sherlock?'  
As Sherlock declined to answer his father I did on his behalf. 'Lestrade is a detective at the Met. He calls Sherlock in on a lot of his cases.' We arrived back at Bakers Street at just gone midnight. While the rest of us removed our coats Sherlock paced the kitchen with his belstaff on still texting. His mum and dad said their good nights, which Sherlock didn't even acknowledge. I entered the kitchen and said while getting a glass from the draining board that I was going to bed. We hadn't talked about the logistics of this earlier.  
He didn't look up 'I am going to the crime scene, if this is a 7 I may not be back, but if it's less and I do get back tonight I sleep on the left. Sleep well.' And with that he left with a swish of his coat. Well that cleared my questions about the sleeping arrangements up nicely.

Why could I smell smoke? Drifting into consciousness I attempted to move onto my back and found I couldn't. I was pinned very firmly to the bed on my side and I could smell smoke. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, my eyes shot open, but it was pitch black and my eyes weren't fully functioning yet. Reaching out a hand in front of me I was met by a soft warm surface. Realisation dawned on me. Sherlock was in the bed next to me and his arm was slung over my waist pining me to the bed facing him. My struggle must have disturbed his sleep as he moved pulling me closer to him and twining his left leg over mine, so that I was cocooned in his embrace. That was twice in 24 hours that he had completely bowled me for six. I had not expected him to be a cuddler in any way, ever. Even when not conscious, but here I was being held by him. Now I was so much closer I realised that the smoke smell was coming from him. It must be due to the case he had returned from and he hadn't showered before coming to bed. Pressed up against him I realised how much more muscular he was than I had assumed before. He was beautiful. I had always been aware that I found his unconventional looks and brooding manner attractive, but he always seemed so unobtainable. John had mentioned in our first meeting, while he gave me the instruction manual on living with Sherlock, that Sherlock had told him that he was married to his work and it was generally believed that he was asexual. I had just pushed my attraction to him from my mind for the most part, but that was hard to do when I was close enough to lightly run my hand over his pectoral to his upper ribs feeling the contours of his chest through the soft t-shirt. His snuffled breaths drew my attention away from his chest to his face. He was sleeping soundly his full lips slightly parted. It was shocking to see him looking so innocent. I had never seen him look so unguarded, without the wall he had built around him to make himself impenetrable he looked younger and like an ordinary man. My eyes were drawn back to those lips and I almost gave in to my urge to press a kiss to them. Before I could do so I lifted his arm from me and pulled my self out from under it and his legs, rolling away from him. I settled myself on the edge of the bed facing away from him and attempted to get back to sleep.

I woke next morning to an empty bed and the smell of bacon. The next minute the bedroom door was flung open and Sherlock entered brandishing two cups of tea and a plate piled high with sandwiches that I hoped contained bacon. The sandwiches were placed next to me in the middle of the bed and a cup on the bedside table before he moved around the bed placing his cup down. Then with a flair two bottles were grabbed from the pockets of his dressing gown spinning through the air before he caught them again. 'Ketchup or brown?' he asked.  
'Ketchup please.' He got back into the bed grabbed a sandwich and devoured it in 3 bites. 'Did your mum do this? Bacon is perfect and crispy.'  
'No Mummy left half an hour ago.'  
'I'll have to thank Mrs Hudson later then.'  
'No I made breakfast.'  
'Sorry, you made this? You can cook?'  
'Of course I can. Its essentially chemistry!' He stated rounding his shoulders, the beginning of a pout forming on his lips.  
Attempting to salvage the situation I took another bite and mmmmed appreciatively. ' What have I done to warrant breakfast in bed actually made by you?'  
'I was made to swear to take care of you by my mother before she would leave. Making food for you constitutes taking care. And breakfast in bed is something couples do.' he said with a wink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megan has a shock and sees another side to Sherlock.

The next month was fairly quiet as months go living with Sherlock. He was often home when I got back from work, as often as not sat at his microscope. While I made dinner we would talk, or rather I would talk and he wouldn't tell me to shut up which was an improvement on my past attempts at conversation. Those cases he did have were often solved within the day and I would come home to find him and sometimes John sat in their chairs, Sherlock contentedly playing his violin or them just chatting together. It seemed like things were on an even keel. That's not to say that manic things didn't occur. I got home from work one Friday evening to find Sherlock pacing. Then grabbing my arm saying we had a case and needed to leave to catch the train to Plymouth.  
'No you have a case Sherlock, I have an appointment with a glass of wine and the bath tub.'  
'John can't come, I need a conductor.'  
'A what?'  
'Conductor, some people help me think clearer, you have the remarkable power of stimulating genius.'  
'Ok, I think that’s another compliment. I'll need to pack somethings. '  
'Already done that, your favoured suitable outfits are packed, along with your favoured toiletries, underwear, the book you are reading, your laptop and phone charger.'  
'Oh right, well let's go then, but it still stands that you can't just go through my personal possessions. We have talked about this before Sherlock' His response was to roll his eyes at me as he turned the collar of his Belstaff up, before bounding down the stairs.

So instead of the relaxed weekend I had planned I was pulled around the West Country. It did let me see Sherlock at work, the clear driven side of him, the no nonsense, brook no idiots Sherlock at a crime scene. That was brilliant the way he can reduce the top dogs at a scene to quibbling imbeciles yapping at his heels. I was less impressed with the 3 hours of sleep I got before being shook awake to go and interview the victims, girlfriends sister, which confused me as when I'd gone to bed I didn't know the woman had a girlfriend.   
Sherlock of course solved the case and Sunday I found myself on a train with a sleeping Sherlock drooling on my shoulder. His phone vibrated on the small table, glancing at it and seeing it was John. I answered it quietly.   
'Hello John, it’s Megan. '  
'Oh hello, where's the deducing genius? '  
'Sleeping on my shoulder. '  
'What?'  
'Sleeping and I'm pretty sure drooling a bit on my shoulder. We are on the train back from Plymouth. What have you been up to this weekend that meant I got dragged here?'  
'Nothing, didn’t even know we had a case.' He said sounding a bit pissed off at being left at home.  
The next thing I knew the phone was plucked from my hand, placed back on the table and the speaker phone function was activated.  
'I thought you, Mary and your offspring may enjoy a weekend together without my interruptions, as you have commented many times on how you would like me to give you the opportunity to have family time.' He huffed, his head still on my shoulder.  
'Well yeah actually, it was really nice to spend some time together. Um thanks mate.'  
'Good, now if you don't mind I shall continue sleeping now, goodbye John. '  
'Bye Sherlock, by..... ' But Sherlock had already hung up and true to his word he went back to sleep, his head still on my shoulder.

 

When I got back to Bakers Street after a long tiring day, it was a relief to find it quiet and peaceful. With Sherlock clearly out I took the opportunity to take a long hot bath. I had an en suite shower up stairs, but sometimes a shower just won't cut it. I dumped my stuff on the sofa and popped up the stairs bypassing my bedroom and using the door on the landing stepped into my bathroom, stripping out of my work clothes and slipping my dressing gown on. On my way out the door I picked out a lush bath bomb and towels. Picking my phone up on my way to Sherlock's bathroom I opened Spotify and selected a playlist of singer/songwriter tracks mixed with a few classical tracks that I found relaxing.

The addition of the classics to my listening was completely influenced by Sherlock and the late night concerts he performed. On occasion when he played mellow soulful pieces I had been known to open my door and creep back into bed to fall asleep to his beautiful playing. I made sure that the water falling into the deep old fashioned bath was the right temperature, just shy of scolding, before dropping the bath bomb in and watching it fizz turning the water a sunny orange with dashes of gold glitter swirling through it and perfuming the room with a warm citrus scent and an underlying hint of jasmine. 

It was only when I had started to resemble a prune and the water was getting decidedly chilly that I finally pulled myself up and contemplated washing my hair, only to realise that I hadn't bought shampoo with me. Deciding to just borrow Sherlock's, I temporarily reconsidered it when I realised how expensive his shampoo was, but having sniffed it, it sent a tingle through me the idea of having the scent of Sherlock in my hair and so close to my own nose. Having decided to treat myself I went ahead and lathered it through my tresses rinsing it in the citrus and jasmine scented water. Having finished and really starting to feel the chill now I quickly dried myself and after wrapping my hair in a towel and throwing my dressing gown on. I sprinted through the flat and up the stairs to my room, cursing myself for not putting the heating on before I got in the bath. Bowling into my room I gave an alarmed yell of surprise on colliding with the solid chest of Sherlock. His hands fell away from where they had grasped my arms to steady us both on collision and without turning his head to look at me or uttering a word he turned and sat on the edge of my bed, head bowed. 'Why are you up here? ' I asked mindful not to get too aggressive about his invasion of my private space again as I had just been using his bathroom. Although he had said I was free to use it as long as he was not using it or conducting any experiments in it, I realised I didn't actually know for a fact that he hadn't been experimenting. It wasn't always clear. I had on numerous occasions thrown away experiments in the kitchen into mould growth. He didn't answer just stayed head bent on my bed. 

I rummaged through my drawers hunting out pyjamas, and filled the silence with tales of how crap my day had been. 'Sherlock you need to go' no response again 'lovely as our chat has been it is fucking freezing and I need to change into the fluffiest, warmest pjs I own. Probably the fleece ones with the cartoon owls solving equations on which make you wrinkle your nose in disgust every time I wear them.' I turned to him then with a teasing smile on my lips which dropped in seconds when I finally saw his face. 'Sherlock’? His eyes were watery and red rimmed and he bit at his bottom lip as he tried to school his face back to the emotionless mask he normally wore. ‘What’s wrong? Sherlock' unable to control the play of emotion across his face he again dropped his face this time his large hands came up to grip his head. I stared in shock at seeing him broken. I was about to slip downstairs to grab my phone from where I had left it in his bathroom and call John, when his broad shoulders began to shudder as he silently started to sob. With that I did the only thing I felt was called for in this instance, what I would need if I was so distraught. I sat on the bed beside him and held him, gradually moving against each other until I was sat at his side one leg over his lap the other behind his back, his head buried in my shoulder one hand stroking his curls the other stroking along his upper back. There we stayed until he calmed and pulled back from me. My arm still at his back he finally looked me in the face and with a shuddering breath told me 'I killed three people today. ' And he pulled away from me to lie on other side of the bed, back to me, in the foetal position.


	4. Chapter 4

Shocked at his declaration but determined not to show it I slipped across the bed and lay behind him, keeping distance between us but reaching to gently hold his shoulder. I waited for him. With a deep sigh he continued. 'He had three of them suspended from a swing stage with detonation charges attached to the winch mechanisms. Lestrade was getting his people out in other buildings to search for him. He could clearly see us; all I had to do was buy time. All I had to do was answer his questions correctly. I got it wrong, I didn't know the answer'. The despair and desperation was ringing out in his voice now, plunging an ice cold needle into my chest to hear it 'I never thought it was important, pop culture, but three people fell to their death. I didn't know.' He trailed off and as his shoulders started to shake I fitted myself in behind him and held him until he regained control.

He turned to me until we were chest to chest before kissing me on the cheek lightly. As he pulled away I moved my hand to his cheek the pad of my thumb running over his cheekbone softly and looking into his red rimmed eyes. 'This is not your fault, someone else did this. No one knows everything Sherlock, not even you, it is not your fault. Whoever this person was they would have done it one way or another.' Gripping his face gently with both hands, I stated slowly and clearly ’It is not your fault.' and having said that I kissed him. It was a gentle kiss on the lips as I continued to stroke his cheekbone. I couldn't tell you why I did it, it just felt right in that moment and I did it without thinking. Slowly pulling away keeping my eyes shut for a second, opening them slowly I was greeted by his arresting variegated blue and green eyes staring straight at me. It's like being struck by a freeze ray being stared at by those eyes. He is capable of seeing everything, reading everything in my face, and I had no idea what he was thinking. Then his lips were crashing into mine. I heard a surprised squeak, then realised it was me. I felt his tongue stroking along my bottom lip seeking entrance. Granting it by parting my lips I was surprised when his tongue, instead of duelling with mine, softly caressed it. I had expected furious passion, but he was experimenting, gauging my responses and discovering what I liked.

His hand, which at some point unknown to me had started caressing my cheek, began to lightly pass down my neck, his knuckles lightly grazing the skin there until he reached my clavicle. His lips followed the same trail pressing feather light kisses until they too reached my clavicle. I reopened my eyes to find his face back over mine, his eyes cataloguing my reaction as he trailed his palm down my throat to the swell of my breast before leaning forward whispering in a low tone 'Is this agreeable?' into my ear as he slid his hand under my dressing gown to skim his palm over my right breast.  
'Yes' I hissed arching my back to elicit more contact between us. I was so distracted by the feeling of him rolling my nipple between his fingers, with the perfect amount of pressure, that I didn't notice what his other hand was doing until I felt my robe falling away from my other breast only to feel warm lips kissing it seconds later. He then slowly explored my breast with kisses and small tastes with his tongue, until after what felt like hours of teasing he sucked my nipple between his lips, flicking it with his tongue causing me to arch upwards again with a whimper as it sent a bolt of pleasure between my thighs. My hand moved to hold his head to me, as he lathed the flat of his tongue over my taut, engorged nipple before sucking gently on it again. The sensation had me grabbing at his curls eliciting a grunt of pleasure from Sherlock. It was only then that I was reminded of just how naked I now was with my gown open and barely still on my shoulders. Sherlock in opposition was still fully clothed and I had barely touched him so overcome had I been with the sensations he had generated in me. With that in mind I reluctantly pulled him away from my chest and gently pushing him onto his back I leant into kiss him.

My fingers trailed across his jaw and down his neck to his sternum exposed by the top couple of buttons of his shirt that he never did up. I pulled away from the heated kiss to mirror his earlier whisper 'is this agreeable?' As I started to unbutton his straining white shirt kissing my way down from his jaw as I opened each new button until his chest was completely open to me. I swung my leg over his hip so as to have a better view of the pale, scared flesh. The flutter of arousal that the sight of the light muscling arose in me was nothing to the surge that shot through every inch of me when he opened his eyes. He gave a growl of pure lust as his eyes grazed my body taking in the sight of me kneeling over his hips as I shrugged my gown off my shoulders finally completely naked. Quick as a flash he was sitting up with his large hands grasping my hips tightly pulling me down to sit in his lap as he arched his still fully clothed erection against me, before moving his hands up my back pressing my breast against his chest and the light smattering of surprisingly pale hair there and sucking, kissing and nipping at the pulse point of my neck. Everything he did felt so good he had me squirming against his erection.

Placing a hand between us I ran it down his chest playing with his nipple and retracing his pec and ribs as I had wanted to explore them the other night. I continued down until I reached his button flipping it open and then pulling on his zip. It was difficult due to my current position in his lap, his continued attention to my neck and the re commencing of his exploration of my breasts, but I was thoroughly rewarded by his throaty hum of approval against my skin when I slipped my hand under the waist of his boxers to glide it over the hard, hot silken skin of him. Suddenly I was being lifted his hands cupping the cheeks of my arse and found myself flat on my back as he divulged himself of trousers and boxers before settling back between my legs. His eyes, the pupils completely blown with lust, again captured mine before slowly lowering himself to kiss me once again, nipping at my lips repeatedly until I finally managed to claim his mouth with my tongue.

I was acutely aware of his erection nudging against my lips and I rolled my hips trying to feel more of him. He pulled back and smiling a satisfied smirk he trailed his fore and middle finger down my body, between my breasts, down my stomach circling around my belly button before continuing down through the curls at the apex of my thighs and down lightly over my outer lips making me hum with desire before continuing until he settled between my buttocks. He then, even more slowly, began to reverse the journey, his eyes still staring into mine, until he reached my outer lips again. This time however he breached them and my eyes fluttered shut as his fingers slowly entered me and his thumb ghosted my clit. Then he slowly circled my clit with more pressure as he slid his fingers in and out with increasing pace. My eyes shot open as another wave of pleasure shook me. 'Sherlock. ..please'  
He leant over me hovering his face over mine staring once more at me as he removed his hand, before his eyes shuttered as he pressed into me with an 'ah' from both of us. I groped blindly for his lips pressing kisses to his as he began to move slowly in me. His tempo increased and then he would slow and exit me almost completely before slamming back home making me cry out every time. I was going to come and soon. I braced my legs on the bed so I could lift my hips better to match his rhythm, this changed the angle and he was suddenly so much deeper.

My arm reached around his neck my fingers brushing the nape of his neck and the small curls there and then his fingers were back at my clit and his deep voice ordered 'Open your eyes Megan.'  
He was pistoning into me now and the cords of muscle in the bicep of his one supporting arm and his neck stood out as he ground out with each stroke  
'I...want ...to....see ....you...come'  
And then I was gone, my whole body tingling as my muscles clenched and pulsed around him and then I was dimly aware of a yell of 'oh' as I felt him jerk in me causing another aftershock of pleasure to zing through me as he emptied into me before he fell on top of me.

  
When my brain finally came back on line Sherlock was still laying on me his head on my shoulder, his panting breath ghosting against my neck. I turned my head gently kissing the damp curls plastering his forehead. He looked up at me after I'd done so, but his gaze held none of the scrutiny and deductive qualities I had come to expect. He looked dazed and tired. 'Can you move yet? You're heavier than you look.'  
He rolled off of me 'Better?'  
'I can breathe again'.  
'I need to sleep'.  
'I know'.

  
After a few minutes of silence, the post orgasmic haze was starting to dissipate and I was starting to question. What had we done? What should I do now? I was just about to get out of bed to leave Sherlock to sleep when his voice, tired but surprisingly gentle, cut through the silence.  
'Megan?'  
'Yes'  
'Stay with me? Please' and he reached for my hand tracing his long fingers over mine  
'Of course I will'  
I scooted closer to him, and wrapped my other arm over his waist my hand lightly brushing his stomach as he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John does some explaining about Sherlock.

I woke with a start to noise downstairs. Cursing Sherlock instantly in my sleep addled state until I realised that I was once again cocooned in Sherlock's limbs as he clung to me while he slept. The noise downstairs couldn't be him. A yell of 'Sherlock' in John's voice, followed by 'Megan' had me again disentangling myself from Sherlock and hurrying to pull my dressing gown on to find John before he found us.  
'Where's the fire John?' I asked sauntering into the living room trying to keep my cool  
'Have you seen Sherlock? Where's your phone? Mycroft text us both, it’s a danger night, you didn't answer!' He was indignantly staring me down now, raising himself to his full soldier pose.  
'He's fine John. I'm sorry I got distracted and didn't go back to my phone, sorry to worry you unnecessarily.' I said calmly placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

He deflated a little with the knowledge that Sherlock was ok. 'Tea?' I asked 'I would value your opinion on what to do on danger nights for the future. '  
'You seem to have done ok so far if he’s here, quiet and safe. Where is he?'  
'Asleep.'  
'He's not in his room' a flicker of concern crossed his face as he imagined that Sherlock had given me the slip and even now was trawling the streets for a dealer.  
'No he's in my bed; he was really upset when I got home. I found him in my room, I've never seen him like that. I managed to get him to sleep in the end.' (I neglected to tell him the main activity that had led to the sleep) 'I know a bit of what happened today, but I don't understand why it affected him the way it did? '

John started taking over the tea making, moving around the kitchen like he still lived here. 'How much do you know about Sherlock before you met him? How much do you know about his faked suicide?' He queried over his shoulder as he poured milk into the tea.  
'Not a lot, just what was in the news at the time. He's never mentioned it; nobody ever seems to mention it.' John handed me my tea and motioned with his head to the sitting room. There was an awkward moment when we both went to sit in the same chair, the one that Sherlock and Mrs Hudson still referred to as John's. I quickly moved on to settle in Sherlock's chair pulling my legs up under me.  
John looked over at me clearly trying to decide what I needed to know, or how he was going to tell me. 'You need to realise that beneath his robot exterior Sherlock will do anything to protect the people he loves and cares for in his own strange way.' Having said that he gave a large sigh while dragging his hand down over his face and began to explain to me what had happened with Moriarty. Some of it I had heard before in some tabloid or other, some of it was new to me. I wasn't aware of some of what had come after his return either. The Magnussen affair had been hushed up. I hadn't known what Sherlock had been forced to do to protect John, Mary and Amelia. 

I hadn't known about Mary's past. I was surprised John had told me, I said as much. 'Yes well you have become a fixture in Sherlock's life now, you need to understand all of this to understand him or at least to get as close to understanding him as is possible for those of us with average brains.' He continued for some time explaining until he seemed to come to the end and fell quiet, his head falling back to rest on the back of the chair. I got up and made more tea using the time alone in the kitchen to reflect on what he had told me. Coming back into the living room I placed John's replenished tea mug down on the table next to him before taking to Sherlock's chair again. 

I quietly sipped at my tea for a while, before posing a question to John. As I started he shifted up in his chair to give me his full attention. 'So his reaction tonight is fed by all of what you have just told me isn't it?' He reached for his tea sipping before nodding at me. 'The fall of those people today reminded him of his own fall, but it’s more than just that. He endured two years alone doing god knows what. Then he manages to come back, but it is not the life he thought he'd come back to, you have left him, to his eyes anyway, to marry Mary. Then he reconciles himself to that and Magnussen happens and he thinks he lost it all again, then he gets a reprieve. He settles again, things tick over; he finds his place in the world again. He's Sherlock Holmes; Consulting Detective, then he fails and they fall to their death like he could have 4 years ago, and it feels like everything is about to slip away from him again.'  
John only silently nods again, thoughtfully drinking his tea.  
When he finally spoke he calmly stated. 'Sherlock will not ask for help, we need to try and keep him on an even keel remind him that he still has everything he holds dear, even if he denies he has sentimental feelings about anything or anyone.' It was my turn to nod silently this time. We both finished off our tea in silence until I broke it again.  
'So would you, Mary and Amelia like to come over for dinner next week?'  
John looked shocked 'all of us?'  
'Yep, Sherlock needs reminding of what he's got, I need to get to know you all better as I am now apparently a fixture of Sherlock's life as you put it. Plus I'm hoping that with Marys depth of knowledge she can give me tips on controlling Sherlock.' I finished with a wink. John gave a cackle of laughter to that. 

John left soon after, which left me debating what had happened earlier that night. Had I made this worse? Sherlock had been vulnerable, had I let my desire for him take over? Had I taken advantage of him? Even thinking something like that this morning would have been farcical but so much had changed. Should I go back to bed? I was dog tired, my brain needed the sleep just to process all the things I had learnt from John, but should I try and sleep on the sofa, or go back to my bed which had Sherlock in it. My promise was what decided it; I had said I'd stay. I walked back up the stairs opened the door to my room then quietly made my way to my chest of drawers pulling out pants and a strappy vest and changed into them before climbing back under the duvet settling down on the edge of the mattress giving him space.

When I woke again it was to find that I was in the middle of the bed and once again being held by Sherlock. His head nuzzled against my shoulder and his hand cupping my breast. Warm and contented I drifted back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock re-arranges his mind palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, but the next will be much longer promise.

I didn't see Sherlock for 3 days. When I woke the first day of his disappearance it was to find myself alone in my bed and on further examination alone in the flat. I was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea musing over the night before and just starting to worry again about if I had made everything worse last night, what if Sherlock was out scoring now, when I received a text.

-His cranky brilliant mindedness has had a breakthrough on the case, I have been dragged along too. Thought you might want to know. J  
-Thanks John. Is he ok? M  
-Yes. He's a bit introspective this morning, and is muttering to himself more than normal, but he seems Sherlocky enough. J  
-Thanks again, can you keep me up to date with what he's doing, I'll do the same with you when he's home. Just I'm worried about him. M  
-No problems. Being ordered by Sherlock to stop texting you now, no idea how he always knows who I'm texting! J  
-He's probably got Mycroft to fit a bug on your phone so he can read all your messages. Bugger off Sherlock! Thanks again John. M  
-:-D J

John as promised kept me up to date, so I knew Sherlock was ok and when he had to leave to go home to his family he handed Sherlock sitting duty over to Greg and apparently the duty of keeping me informed as well.

-Hi Megan, this is Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard, we've meet a few times. John gave me your number and asked me to let you know Sherlock was alright. He's currently pacing the office annoying all my staff, so he's on pretty good form. Will let you know if he goes AWOL. G

This was pretty much the pattern for the next 3 days. Then about an hour before I was due to leave work John text to say that the case was finished and Sherlock was on his way back to Bakers Street. John was sharing a taxi make sure he got back there and then had Mrs Hudson on standby to make sure he stayed there. By the time I got back 90 minutes later he was asleep in his room burrowed under the duvet, cold cup of tea on the bedside table next to him.

The next morning I expected to come downstairs to find him still deep in sleep in his room, so I was shocked to find him laid out on the sofa in pjs and silk dressing gown, hands steepled under his chin deep in his mind palace. He didn't acknowledge my presence so I crept to the kitchen for the coffee my body was craving to kick start my morning routine. I had just finished getting yogurt and raspberries from the fridge when I heard a familiar ‘yoo hoo’ of greeting from the living room. Poking my head around the door frame I was just in time to witness Mrs Hudson ruffling Sherlock's hair and question in an affectionate tone ' doing some housekeeping dear?'  
He cracked one eye open warily in cat like fashion and gently swatted her hand from his hair before swiftly launching himself up with trademark swish of his dressing gown as he stepped on and over the coffee table in a direct line to the window behind his chair. As he peered out at the street he gave a reply that made me feel like I'd been punched in the stomach.  
‘I was attempting to delete some unneeded information I recently gathered before I was interrupted' with that he turned his head back to her to make it clear that she was the one that had interrupted. It was then that he noticed my presence, there was a momentary second of surprise on his face at seeing me before he was the normal controlled Sherlock once more and went back to staring out the window. 

I turned back to the kitchen asking Mrs Hudson if she wanted tea or coffee. I half listened to her prattling on as she does, all the while my mind churning over the fact that Sherlock had deleted our night together. Don't get me wrong I am not stupid I know Sherlock. I was not expecting him to suddenly come bearing flowers and start spouting poetry at me. I had had three days of thinking about it to come to the conclusion that it was a onetime thing from a man who, normally emotionless, had been emotionally vulnerable just once. I knew there was a real possibility that he would delete it, but thinking it and actually knowing that he had done it were two completely different things and I was hurt.

Pouring three mugs of coffee, I added sugar to one and tuned back into Mrs Hudson's conversation about the tenants next door. Taking a deep breath to keep my voice steady I shouted  
'Sherlock coffee for you, by your microscope. Toast?' I got no answer, but a minute later just as I had zone back into Mrs Hudson's conversation which had now moved on to the plot line of EastEnders, there was a mumbled  
'Thank you, toast would be nice.' From the direction of the microscope and I turned to find Sherlock surreptitiously staring at me while sipping coffee. I just nodded, turning to get bread and shoved it in the toaster. I then had to endure two minutes of torture as I waited for the toast to pop, while Mrs Hudson continued her commentary. I had completely lost the ability to follow it now, as I fixated on Sherlock's continued staring and trying to maintain my aloof, everything is normal, nothing has changed projection. Finally it was ready and plonking it on a plate I slid it along with butter and marmalade across the table to Sherlock, and feigning running late left the kitchen for the sanctuary of my room, yogurt, fruit and coffee forgotten on the worktop.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megan gets to know Mary and Amy better, and sees yet another side to Sherlock.

Over the next week I pulled myself together, mindful of what John had said about reminding Sherlock of what he had. We fell back into our old routines although nothing I could do would make me as comfortable with Sherlock's gaze as I had been before. 

I left work an hour early on Friday. John and I had arranged dinner for tonight. We hadn't told Sherlock as we were pretty sure he would find an excuse to not be in, probably even sinking so low as to take one of the dozens of missing cat cases he received every day. I got off the tube a stop early to pop into Sainsbury’s to pick up wine and chorizo for making Spanish chicken. I then had a pleasant walk home in the sparkling afternoon sunshine of an early spring day, Mumford and sons as my accompanying soundtrack. 

When I got back to Baker Street, I dropped my bags on the worktop and popped the kettle on. There were signs that Sherlock had been working at the kitchen table, but he was not there now. As I went about making tea and putting away the shopping ‘Winter Winds’ started up in my headphones and I began swaying in time to the music, which developed into me dancing around the kitchen. I pirouetted my way to the fridge, swaying as I rearranged the contents to fit cream, chorizo, milk and custard tarts (bought for Sherlock as he always ate them all) in. I closed the door and pirouetted back toward the kettle to find myself in the arms of Sherlock who promptly danced me back towards the fridge, shifting his hold of me until we were in ballroom hold, he then led me around the table in perfect movement to the song that I could hear in my headphones but he could not. I stared up at him unable to tear myself from gazing into his eyes, as he gently swayed us. I felt apprehensive at remembering the places the hand currently resting below my shoulder blade had been. As we circled and he looked back at me with a contented air I began to let that go, after all he had deleted it, maybe I should try to. He stopped us by tipping me back when we reached the kettle and smiling widely with a slight chuckle, which mirrored my own as he righted me and let me go. Taking the earphones from my ears I said 'That was a pleasant surprise, I had heard of your dancing abilities, but I didn't think I'd get to experience them.'  
'Well you were already dancing, why give up a perfect opportunity. '  
'Indeed. Tea?' He nodded moving to the chair by his microscope.  
'We're going to have to clear that table soon' and clean it vigorously I added to myself. He looked up at me eyebrow raised in question. 'We have visitors for dinner tonight.' A look of chagrin fell on his face so I promptly moved to placate him. 'It's only John and Mary, so you could have dinner in a sheet for all they care, but as Amy is also coming.'  
'Amelia' he butted in with her full name.  
'Yes, well it may be advisable to remove the plethora of dangerous chemicals and body parts. Agreed?' A moment’s contemplation was followed with a small glance and nod, before he went back to preparing a slide.

We both worked in companionable silence in the kitchen for a while, and when I had put the chicken in the oven and started washing up, he got up and started clearing the table, moving its contents to his bedroom. As I had started drying and was staring at the table, wondering if Mrs Hudson had any industrial cleaners in the building, Sherlock came out of his room holding a deep purple and a black shirt up.  
'Which of these? Or...' and he strode back to his room and emerging with a smirk and a white sheet throw over his shoulder.  
'Purple shirt, if the sheet was purple though that would have been my suggestion.' My attempt at a serious face broke down at Sherlock's snort of amusement and I smiled widely giggling as he went back to his room. He re-emerged complete with purple shirt. He reached across me, his hip grazing mine and his hand lightly resting on my waist, to grasp the surface cleaner and cloth before dousing the table with it. His finishing touch was to pull a white table cloth off a chair and shake it out to effortlessly fall in place on the table, ending with a wide grin and jazz hands from him.  
I looked astonished at the transformation. 'Wow, you own a tablecloth? '  
'Yes, gift from Mycroft. He will be thrilled that it has finally been used.' Putting all the sarcastic emphasis on the word thrilled.  
'You were clearly worried about the danger the table may pose to our smallest guest tonight. Do you think this will be sufficient? '  
'Yes I believe so.' I said reaching up to squeeze his shoulder in passing as I left the room, wondering if I was right that he had done it not for me but purely for the protection of 'our smallest guest' as he had put it.

I didn't really know Mary having only met her and Amelia in passing; they had never come to Bakers Street in all the time I have been living there. So I had never seen Sherlock interacting with an eighteen month old before. It was therefore with shock that I witnessed our guest’s arrival. I was putting together the rest of the dinner when I heard them coming up the stairs. Sherlock was sat in his chair playing snippets on his violin. I came into the living room in time to see Mary put Amelia down to help John manoeuvre a high chair and a large bag that I assumed contained baby paraphernalia. Amelia took a couple of shuffling steps one fist in her mouth, the other gripping a stuffed orange toy of some description. Then she clocked Sherlock, she gave a squeal of excitement and toddled as fast as her legs would take her to Sherlock wrapping her chubby little arms around his leg in a hug while yelling 'Sock!’  
'Amelia' he said putting his violin down and placing one of his large hands on her head stroking her blond curls. Then he looked up and caught my eye a small moue of displeasure on his face as I pointed at him and mouthed sock at him and grinned. I was then distracted by John giving me a kiss on the cheek and asking where to put the high chair. I stepped back and gestured to the kitchen saying  
'At the actual kitchen table.' Both John and Mary swung into the entrance to the kitchen and stopped in shock. Mary recovered first,  
’You didn't have to go to so much trouble for us Megan.;  
‘I didn't' I said with a nod to the living rooms inhabitant. A google eyed Mary turned to face Sherlock.  
'Who cleared it then?' asked John before he clocked the direction of Marys gaze and followed her eyes. He muttered 'God' to himself under his breath.  
Of course eagle eared Sherlock heard. 'Not quite John. I prepared the table.'  
‘Where did you get an expensive tablecloth from?' quizzed Mary  
‘Mycroft, apparently’ I said.  
'Oh well we'll try not to let that ruin our night' All of us laughed at that even Amy from where she was sat on Sherlock's lap.

I was fascinated in watching Amy and Sherlock; he treated her much as he did adults. She sat in his lap chatting away to him, the majority of which was nonsense words and showing him her toy, occasionally pulling at his shirt as if to stress an important point. He just stared at her observing, occasionally making minute movements of his head as he studied something in particular with more focus. Having observed them for a minute or so, I turned back to the kitchen to watch John struggling to put up the high chair. I wasn’t the only one observing him. Mary stood there with her eyes wide in amusement at the cock up John was making of it, until she finally took pity on him walking over, stroking his back before taking the high chair and clicking it in place in two moves.  
‘Wine?’ I asked a dumbfounded, slightly affronted John and a smug smiling Mary.  
‘Yes Thanks’ said Mary as she swooped up to John and placed a kiss on his cheek, he gave her a disgruntled pout, that I was 99% certain he had picked up from Sherlock, before it dissolved into a loving smile as he returned the kiss to his wife’s cheek. 

I went back to the living room to ask Sherlock if he wanted a glass of wine to find Amy with her foot held up to Sherlock saying ‘Big Sock.’  
‘Shall we find out if you have grown Miss Amelia?’ She gave a very excited nod. His hand moved to remove her little sock and shoe gently and he then did something surprising. He gently tickled her tiny foot with his index finger. She fell about giggling on his lap and as I looked on a small grin flickered across his face. Then he proceeded to remove a tape measure from the pocket of his dressing gown that was flung across the back of his chair and began measuring her foot studiously, full Sherlock concentration back. He then measured the rest of her, legs, arms, head circumference and more while she patiently moved as he directed her. When he had finished he threw the tape measure to the ground. Amy scrambled up arms around his neck.  
‘Big Sock?’  
He nodded.‘Yes Amelia, you are most definitely bigger.’ She gave another excited squeak before planting a sloppy kiss to his jaw, and scrambling down off the chair his hands aiding her. She then toddled past me to the kitchen.  
‘In answer to your as yet un-uttered question, a glass of syrah would be delightful.’ He said looking me in the face before leaping up and moving to one of the desks, where he pulled open a drawer and upon finding a small notebook, began jotting something down in it. Shaking my head in bemusement I turned back to the kitchen to pour wine to find that John had also been observing the scene.  
‘Does he always do the measuring thing?’  
‘Yes he's done it everytime he's her from when she was born, she loves it. I think he does too.’ He paused then in a more muted voice ‘The foot tickle was new though. He seems happier somehow.’ Another pause as he considered it. ‘It’s not like the crazy happy he gets when he solves an 8 or above, it’s more of a …I don’t know… stable, contented happy. God knows with Sherlock though.’ he said shaking his head again.

Dinner was fun. I already knew John was great and had a highly amusing sarcastic streak, but he was nothing compared to Mary. She was hilarious and had me in stiches. Surprisingly for all of us Sherlock was engaging and fully participating. Mary at one point, had me almost spitting the mouthful of wine I had all over her and Sherlock  
‘You have no idea how stuck up and downright rude some of the mothers at Mother and Baby groups can be. After trying them for a couple of months I decided that I just couldn’t do it anymore. Listening to them talking about how they only give organic food to their children was fine, each to their own, but when they started on about the dangers of the MMR vaccine’  
‘Pseudo-science’ declaimed Sherlock. ‘There is insufficient evidence for any claim for a link to autism.’  
‘Exactly Sherlock,’ agreed Mary, ‘In failing to vaccinate their healthy children, they are risking the lives of other children out there who are immunocompromised and unable to have the vaccine. If a endemic arose their child might survive as they are healthy but others who had no choice might not. So I was actually quite happy when Sherlock took the option to keep attending away from me.’  
Sherlock looked quizically at her, eyes narrowed and nose scrunching up to form deep lines between his eyebrows, while John giggled to himself. ‘I do not recall banning you from attending these groups.’  
‘Oh no, you didn’t ban me.’ She turned to me then. ‘Sherlock came to one of these mother and baby groups with me. This was the phase in which he was doing a lot of research into baby growth. He had just asked me to donate some breast milk to him.’  
‘Which I wasn’t happy about.’ piped up John.  
‘I told you it was for scientific purposes John. I don’t understand your consternation .’  
‘Yeah well you wouldn’t .‘uttered John.  
Mary butted in with a matronly ‘Boys’ before continuing her story. ‘As I was saying, Sherlock had asked me to donate breast milk for his study of the nutrients in it, and if breast or bottle was better. I should therefore have been prepared. Sherlock came to the meeting with me and then promptly flirted his way around the group before asking them for samples of their breast milk.’  
It was at this point that I almost lost my wine. Sherlock’s reply of ‘or their chosen formula feed’ did nothing to stop the laughter around the table.

Mary and John were in the process of getting ready to leave. A sleepy Amy was curled up on Sherlock’s chest while he and John talked. Mary and I were in the kitchen.  
‘So, you have slept together?’ Mary asked bluntly.  
‘What?’ I exclaimed shocked, feeling my face heating. ‘No of course we haven’t, he’s Sherlock. Asexual.’  
‘Bollocks! That’s what he lets people believe, the same as the high functioning sociopath stuff, but its complete bollocks. Although I think he might actually belief he is a sociopath, which he’s not. You don’t need to lie to me, it’s as clear as day that you have done the deed.’  
I looked at her questioningly, wondering how the hell she could tell. She shook her head at me ‘It is so obvious the way you look at each other, you smile at him when he’s not looking, he smiles at you when you’re not looking and the fact that I have never seen him so comfortable with touching anyone else. He actually brushed his fingers over yours when you passed him his wine glass.’  
I had obviously noticed this when he did it, as it had triggered a remembrance of his interlacing his fingers with mine that night. But I knew it could mean nothing. I told Mary this. ’You are right we did, but you must be misreading him,' I paused dropping my face from her probing gaze before muttering into my chest. 'He has deleted it from his mind palace.’  
Mary gave me a quick hug, seeming to know that I needed comfort but too much and I would have broken down in tears. She then moved past me to pick up the high chair saying as she went. ’I wouldn’t be so sure that he has.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is annoying but redeems himself.

Sherlock had a case. He disappeared for the entirety of Saturday, and when I got back from coffee with a friend Sunday morning I found him pacing in the living room, blue silk dressing gown flowing around him, worn over the usual shirt and form fitting trousers. I left him be, as he was clearly agitated and had reached a problem that he couldn’t work out. This was evident from the way he was grabbing his head and repeatedly ruffling his hair, his pacing becoming more and more erratic. 

I silently climbed the stairs to my room and jumped in the shower. I changed into sweatpants and a vest and curled up at the bottom of my bed and read for a while. My reading was disrupted by an aggressive cry of frustration from Sherlock, moments later I heard him striding up the stairs before he burst into my room. He paused momentarily, gazing at me clinically, before turning sharply on his heels and grabbing all the pillows from my bed and swiftly leaving and bounding back down the stairs. I was surprised somewhat at his abrupt entrance and exit, but this was Sherlock.

I made the choice to stay where I was and attempted to go back to reading. Reading lasted no time at all as my thoughts moved from the book to day dreaming of Sherlock. More specifically his bursting into my room as he had done, but rather than grabbing my pillows and leaving, his moving to stand over me with a heated gaze before pulling me down the bed to stand between my legs, before… No stop it, these thought would not help. I had to forget this. 

After around an hour of failed attempts at not thinking about sex with Sherlock. I decided to go down to find out what the fate of my pillows was. Hesitantly I opened the door to the living room, to be met with a smog of cigarette smoke. In the midst of the fug was Sherlock. He was perched cross legged on some sort of eastern divan that he had constructed from my pillows and his own. Next to him on the pillows was a Turkish slipper with a few unsmoked cigarettes in it and a small plate covered in ash and cigarette butts. He stared silently and motionless to the corner of the ceiling, blue smoke curling up from the cigarette perched between his perfectly formed lips.   
‘Jesus Christ Sherlock what are you trying to do, get the fire service out. I didn’t know firemen were your thing’ I yelled at him moving to throw all the windows open. I turned to find him standing right behind me.   
‘You have done it again.’ He said grabbing my face between both his hands and kissing me full on the lips before striding off to his room, as I stood there dumbfounded yet again. I was still just standing there when he came back out of his room with shoes on, pulling on his coat and left without saying a word.

God he infuriated and turned me on within seconds. No a kiss was not going to get him out of his continued abuse of my possessions. That in mind I sent him a text.   
-Do you have any consideration for anyone else? Oh no I forgot everything is about Sherlock BLOODY Holmes and his fucking work. You need to arrange for my pillows to be cleaned you dick. They smell like an old man pub before the smoking ban. M

An hour later still unsurprisingly not having got a reply from his nibs there was a knock at the door; I popped downstairs yelling that I would get it at Mrs Hudson. On opening the door I found a man in a sharp black suit standing there holding a selection of Harrods bags. He handed them to me saying. ‘Miss Dixon. Compliments of Mr Holmes.’ Then he turned and got back into the sleek black jaguar that had been idling behind him. Slightly flummoxed I turned to close the door before realising that there were a selection of larger packages on the door step, namely pillows, and a large box embossed with the Harrods logo containing a goose down duvet. Pulling all of these into the hall, I found Mrs Hudson drying her hands on a tea towel. 

‘Been shopping my dear, expensive tastes.’   
‘No these were just delivered. I think this is Sherlock apologising or going on a shopping spree.’   
‘Expensive apology then, there must be at least £2000 of bedding there.’   
‘WHAT?’ I exclaimed eyes wide in shock.   
‘Yes’ she said nodding gently taking a sheet that I had pulled from a bag examining it ‘Italian woven Egyptian cotton, with a 800 thread count is not cheap.’ She rummaged in another bag and then pulled out an envelope handing it to me. It had Megan scrawled over it in Sherlock’s distinctive hand writing. I was saved from having to open it, by the timer going from Mrs Hudson’s kitchen.   
‘Oh dear I must go and see to that, making scones. I will bring some up for you love birds later. I’ll be sure to knock in case you are making up on your new sheets.’ she said with a twinkle in her eye and a small titter of amusement.   
‘We are not together.’ I declared to her retreating back.   
‘Whatever you say dear,’ she threw back over her shoulder. 

I lugged all the bedding upstairs straight to my room, as the living room still smelt distinctly smoky, dumping it all on my bed. I turned the envelope over in my hand a few times before tearing it open. It was written on thick creamy Diogenes Club headed note paper, so he had obviously been to see Mycroft, which also explained the delivery by a government employee. 

Megan,

Thank you for your enlightening comment earlier, it led me to the conclusion that the bomb was of course a foil to distract the emergency services, allowing the thieves a clear window in which to enter the vault and take the opal tiara. Yet again you have been a great conductor. 

I give you my deepest apologies for my casual disregard of your property. I am indeed what some might vulgarly call ‘a dick’. I hope my replacement of the damaged property will go some way towards making amends. 

All that I have purchased is for your personal use, with the small exception of a set of pillows to replace my own. 

One additional product I may also want to borrow on the odd occasion. 

Yours Sherlock x

Perplexed by his last comment I started pulling everything out of the distinctive green and gold bags, until I pulled out a deep purple sheet, in a similar if not the exact same shade of purple as Sherlock’s shirt. The shirt that accentuated the pale skin of his neck and picked out the green shades in his eyes. The shirt that when he wore it I wanted to rip from him to trace my hands over his chest and see those eyes become pools of darkness as lust took over his calculating mind...... No Megan, stop it I told myself again. 

With a wide grin cracking my face, I tapped out a message to Sherlock. 

-This will not be forgotten, however you are forgiven. Thank you for the presents. I love them, although I am slightly worried as to whether you will still be able to pay the rent next month. Mx   
Then I sent one additional text.   
-Also I am very much looking forward to the next time John and Mary come around for dinner! Mx   
That done I made my bed, ensuring that the deep purple sheet was the one I used.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megan learns a new skill and can't contain her excitement about it.

I was safely ensconced in John’s chair, about a week after I’d received my lovely new bedding. I was settled for the night with a copy of Frankenstein and a glass of Merlot, when I heard the down stairs door slam shut and the sound of two sets of footsteps bounding up the stairs.   
John’s voice reached my ears first ‘No. No Sherlock. This is something I am actually better qualified than you in. Would you just for once maybe listen to me?’  
‘I always listen to you, I may not do what you say, but I do listen.’ Sherlock grumbled as they reached the landing. Then the door opened and Sherlock swirled into the flat with an exasperated John following him in.

I hid my face in my book and curled up smaller in the chair in a vague hope that this was a flying visit to collect some vital piece of equipment before the whirlwind that was Sherlock would leave me to what had been a peaceful evening. That hope was dashed as he jumped into his armchair knees pulled up to his chest, still wearing his sodding coat. I begrudgingly glanced up as I reached for my glass of wine. In doing so I noticed that the left arm of his coat which was slung around his knees had a distinct tear, and he was sporting an angry split and swollen eyebrow.  
‘What happened then?’ I asked. Sherlock opened his eyes a crack before closing them again and giving a huff as John started to tell the story, in a less than flattering light where Sherlock was concerned.  
‘Normal experience with Sherlock really, the short version being that boy wonder here tells nobody what’s going on, storms into a dangerous situation, without telling the police, then promptly goes a few rounds with a maniac wielding a fucking massive knife. I phone for back up, before saving his arse.’  
‘I could have dealt with him on my own’ Sherlock argued venomously before falling back to his failsafe pout eyes glowering at John.   
‘Yeah course mate.’ John responded before turning to the bathroom muttering to himself. ‘No need to say thanks or anything.’   
Sherlock glanced up at me. I raised my eyebrows ‘Not good?’   
‘A lot not good Sherlock.’ 

When John came back into the room with the medical kit Sherlock stood from the chair and took a few steps to meet him. ‘John, your assistance may not have been needed but that does not mean it was not appreciated.’ He then walked past John to sit at his microscope, leaving a stunned John behind him. After moving his head up and down a few times in confusion John leaned down towards me with his head and asked me   
‘Did he’ he paused momentarily shaking his head again and then with a sharp intake of breath asked again ‘Did he just say thank you?’ I just nodded my head, eyes wide in astonishment.

After patching up Sherlock’s eyebrow John attempted to tend to the wound on his arm, but of course Sherlock had other ideas. ‘Megan you need to learn how to do this.’ He yelled from the kitchen.  
‘Do what?’ I said uncurling myself from the armchair and moving to the kitchen.  
‘Suture a wound. It is an occupational hazard in my line of work and would be advantageous if I did not need to call John out to sew wounds I cannot reach in the future. ‘  
‘I’m not a doctor Sherlock, that’s what A&E is there for.’  
‘No they are incompetent fools’  
‘Who have saved your life a few times Sherlock’ said John in his go to tone of exasperation he used when Sherlock was like this.  
‘Everyone has good days’ was the king of the comebacks reply.  
‘Still not going to sew you up, you’d end up with a craggy scar.’  
‘Won’t be the worst scar I have acquired.’ He threw his head back in reference to the scars that lined his back, as his hand fell to where the scar from his bullet wound and two subsequent surgeries resided.   
I had no response to that and just stared at him biting my lip, until John broke the silence.  
‘Let’s compromise, Megan how about you just watch me stitch him up and I’ll talk you through what I’m doing.’  
I silently nodded my head. 

That was my first lesson; my second lesson was a few days later when Sherlock rolled into the flat and dumped a bag on the table. He then disappeared to the bathroom bringing back the medical kit.  
‘What have you injured now?’  
He sighed dramatically ‘Nothing I am going to continue your education.’  
‘My education?’  
‘Yes, welcome to suture school.’ he said enthusiastically removing a shoulder of pork from the bag. ‘I deduced that you would find this preferable to using human specimens.’  
‘You deduced right.’ I said with a shudder.  
He then proceeded to direct me in a variety of techniques, all of which I was atrocious at.  
‘Are you sure this is a good idea Sherlock?’ I said looking at the uneven puckered stitching in front of me.  
‘I am glad John performed my medical aid the other night.’ He said raising an eyebrow at me. I tried really hard not to laugh at that, but when his deep rumble of a laugh reached my ears, I couldn’t help but laugh as well.

Sherlock leapt up strode into the living room and came back brandishing a pen. He made a small incision in the pork and then with the sharpie drew a few dots either side. Using this as a guide I sutured. Sitting back from it I stripped the gloves from my hands a smile cracking across my face at the near perfect suture in front of me. I looked sideways at him standing next to me, before leaping up and at him when he smiled widely back at me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled my head back to smile at him in my excitement. We smiled at each other like goons. Then we weren’t smiling anymore, as his arms circled my waist and he bent his head down to me as I stretched up to meet his lips.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megan gets her suturing award.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another really short, but hopefully delightfully smutty chapter.

This was the opposite of the last kiss that we shared. We clung to each other the kiss heated, passionate and all-encompassing only ending at the dire necessity of oxygen. My breath was laboured as I opened my eyes to find his face looking down at me from his towering height. His pupils were blown, dark pools staring back at me. His lips were parted and pink and absolutely delectable, so I claimed them once again. This time kissing wasn’t enough. My hands moved from his neck, one to run into his curls and pull him against my mouth, the other moving to his back as I pressed my chest into his. Mine weren’t the only hands that moved. Sherlock’s hands had dropped to my hips, pulling me against him so that I could feel the beginnings of his erection. One hand moved down to caress across my left buttock as my hand started stroking across his upper back. 

I can’t quite remember how, but suddenly my butt was pressed against the kitchen table and Sherlock’s leg was determinedly parting my own legs, until he was positioned between them, his much hardened cock unmistakably pressed against my stomach again. We parted to breathe again, while hands traced over each other’s clothed bodies.   
He asked me in a voice an octave or so lower than normal. ‘Do you want this?’  
I knew I should say no, stop this madness, pull myself out of this fantasy I was having, but I just bit my lip and silently nodded. He didn’t pause for a second before he bent to kiss me again as he grabbed me by the hips and lifted me to sit on the table.

Clothes were quickly lost until I found myself naked on the table with Sherlock knelt between my knees his large hands clasped at my inner thighs. He ran his tongue over my labia his nose moving against my clit as his head moved. His gentle caresses of my lips came to an abrupt end when he swiftly moved and my clit was between his lips, his tongue firm and flicking against it.  
‘Fuuccck Sherlock’ He let go looking up at me from beneath a halo of curls.  
‘Rude’ he said his eyes actually twinkling with amusement. I reached to swat at his head, but by the time I reached it he had resumed his last position at my clit and my hand instead gripped at his hair holding him to me as he used his tongue to play me with as much skill as he played his violin.  
‘Sher..too much…too…’ He glanced up catching my eye as mine fluttered open again and then sucked at my clit one more time as his fingers pumped into me, and I was gone with a shout of ‘God Sherlock.’ 

His tongue lazily played at me as I came down from a memorable orgasm. As I focussed back in the room he moved away, then he was kissing me again. It was a gentle languid kiss, and I could taste the musk of myself on his tongue and feel his erection was still present encased in those tight trousers. I pushed him gently off me and a momentary pause and flicker of confusion crossed his face before he fell to deducing me  
’Stop deducing me Sherlock and help me up.’ He took my offered hands and pulled me to sitting. ‘We need to move this to your bedroom, it’s weird enough that we just did that next to a slab of dead pig, I am not fucking you next to it as well.’ Both of us looked to the side of me to see the sutured pork and then looked back at each other smiling.   
I grabbed his hips, pushing him backwards as I hopped down from the table. We were then pushing and pulling at each other, lips locked as we moved to his room, one of my hands already at the button of his trousers.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

Urghh I buried my head under the pillow as the bed moved and a door shut close by, it took a few seconds for me to compute that I was in Sherlock’s room, in Sherlock’s bed and that the shutting door was probably Sherlock leaving and disappearing for another 3 days like last time. I was therefore surprised to hear the noise of the toilet flushing and 30 seconds later the door opening again. I peered out from under the pillow to see Sherlock standing in front of his open wardrobe door, stark bollock naked. The morning sun highlighted the contours of his back and his pert well rounded arse cheeks. He really was beautiful and in a strange way the silvered scars of his back rather than marring the image made it more real. It was less like looking at the image Sherlock portrayed to the world and felt like I was seeing a layer of the real man, but maybe that was just because of the memory I had of tracing those scars as he’d slowly filled me last night.

I was shocked from my pleasant remembrances by Sherlock speaking; his back still turned from me. ‘Enjoying the view Megan? It would appear so from the elevation in your breathing pattern.’  
‘I was indeed enjoying it, what’s not to like.’ I said playfully. He wasn’t running away and I was not going to pretend nothing had happened like last time. He pulled a maroon silk dressing gown from the wardrobe and threw it at me over his shoulder. It landed over my head and by the time I had removed it he was belting its blue striped counterpart, meaning that I was unfortunately deprived of appreciating anymore of the view. I was just about to comment on this when the sound of the kitchen door opening and the distinctive steps of Mrs Hudson had both of us frozen; staring at each other as the state of the kitchen simultaneously dawned on us. You did not need to be a genius consulting detective to be able to deduce by the clothes still strewn all over the kitchen floor exactly what had occurred last night. We went from looking at each other to the door and back again repeatedly as Mrs Hudson entered the kitchen.  
‘Yoo hoo dears, it’s a lovely day again really does feel like spring is springing. Soon th… Oh Sherlock you have left… OH’. That was the moment when she realised. I looked back at Sherlock biting at my lower lip to find that he was just as amused as I was and we fell to silent laughter. I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud. We then heard her gently put down the tray that most probably contained a tea pot and cups and if we were lucky baked goods. Then she cried out to us amusement evident in her tone. ‘There’s tea on the kitchen table for you lovebirds if you’ll be wanting it, toodleloo.’

I saw his face change the moment she said lovebirds. It went straight from merriment, to a split second of shock before the impassive Sherlock mask fell back in place. He stood still staring at the door. We remained silent until the kitchen door shut and the sound of Mrs Hudson footsteps down the stairs faded. Then I plucked up the courage, this had to be addressed.  
‘Sherlock?’ he continued to face the door but slowly his eyes moved to look at me. ‘Sherlock be under no allusions. I would like to think that we are friends, but we are nothing more than that.’ His eyes which had been gradually narrowing as I spoke quickly widened slightly at the conclusion of my sentence. ‘We are friends yes?’ He paused before slowly nodding. ‘Okay well, we are just friends who happen to have had more than satisfactory sex once.’   
Again after a moment’s pause he slowly nodded once more before taking a couple of steps closer to the bed before saying ‘Twice’ It was my time to pause then, he took a couple more steps before sitting at the end of the bed. ’We have had extraordinary sex twice.’  
‘You didn’t delete it?’  
He shook his head before continuing ‘Couldn’t’  
There was another slight pause where he looked at his feet and I gradually looked up at him before a small smile played at my mouth. ‘Good, cause it was shit hot sex.’  
This exclamation drew his attention back to me and seeing my smile the corner of his mouth raised as we began an exchange of adjectives to describe that night  
‘incredible’  
‘mind-blowing’  
‘superb’  
‘phenomenal’  
‘prodigious’  
‘exceptional’  
‘marvellous’  
‘just really, really, really, really absurdly good sex.’  
We both just smiled at each other laughing.   
‘So for clarity’s sake, we are friend who occasionally have sex, as we are so good at it. The closest we come to any sort of relationship is the fake one we have for the purpose of deceiving your parents and annoying your brother.’ I said as I got out of bed pulling the dressing gown on, not oblivious to the way Sherlock’s eyes had fallen to stare at my breasts before I concealed them. He was definitely a breast man.

‘Ah yes, about that.’ Sherlock got up from the end of the bed then and moved over towards his shelves  
‘Have you told them the truth finally?’  
‘Ah. No. Mycroft may have upped the ante’ and with that he plucked something small off the shelf, which he threw to me.   
I stared down at the item I clutched in my hand incredulously. ‘No he hasn’t?’ I asked looking up at Sherlock.  
‘ I am rather afraid he has’ was his only response.


	12. Chapter 12

I sat in the taxi wearing what I thought was a rather cute little swallow print, forest green, mid-thigh length dress, with black wool tights and mary janes. I was staring out of the window, distractedly as Sherlock and I made our way to Mycroft’s for a Holmes family lunch.

‘Stop playing with it, you are supposed to have had it for 6 weeks already, and therefore should be used to wearing it.’

I turned to him to find he wasn’t even looking at me but staring out of his own window. ‘Do you and your all seeing eye have to be such an arse all the time?’

‘I am not omniscient’ he pointed to his window. ‘I can see your reflection, simple observation.’

‘Explaining your methods doesn’t stop you being an arse. Also just because you are in a grump at being forced to see your own family, don’t take it out on the woman who is helping you dupe said family members by accompanying you. It’s the epitome of bad manners.’

He turned huffed and said ‘my apologies’ his voice monotone and non-convincing but the small glance he gave me following it was enough for me to clock that he actually was feeling a small amount of remorse about his behaviour.

‘Thank you Sherlock.’ I mocked as I returned to staring back out the window. We had another two minutes of silence as I thought about his original comment before I turned to look at him again. ‘You really don’t understand human nature do you?’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow at me so I continued ‘engaged women play with their engagement rings ALL the time, it makes them happy to remind themselves that the man that they love wants to be with them and no-one else forever.’

‘Then they all get married and at a later date 52.7% of them get divorced, therefore not staying together forever.’

‘It’s not about the statistics it’s about the hope of being in that remaining 47.3%.’

 

1 month earlier I opened a box to find a beautiful art deco fan ring. The main stone was a deep brilliant green emerald and flanking this on either side were diamonds. It was beautiful and not a traditional engagement ring. For a second I was sure I had drawn the wrong conclusion until Sherlock began to speak. It transpired that Mycroft had falsely told his mother that Sherlock was going to ask me to marry him. Sherlock discovered this following some brotherly banter over a game of operation. Rather than tell his parents that Mycroft was wrong, or that unfortunately I had turned him down, or even that the whole thing was bullshit; Sherlock did the obvious thing (and when I say obvious I mean the stupidest, he’s supposed to be a genius, what the fuck was he thinking) and went and bought a ridiculously expensive ring. It was this ring that he had thrown to me that morning.

‘I deduced from your current jewellery that a traditional solitaire ring would not be to your taste, therefore I bought this one.’

‘It’s a fake engagement ring Sherlock; it doesn’t really need to be to my taste as I will barely wear it.’

‘Maybe, but as it is not a diamond solitaire you can keep it and wear on your right hand if you so choose.’

‘Well yes but traditionally when you are no longer engaged you return the ring Sherlock.’

‘This is hardly a traditional engagement, is it? I do not expect it to be returned to me at the end of our arrangement.’

‘What makes you think I am excepting this arrangement?’

He paused, before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Then he asked ‘You… don’t like the ring?’ with a slight hitch of his eyebrow in an unfamiliar expression to cross his face of confusion, and uncertainty.

‘Oh no Sherlock, I love the ring, you are completely right in my tastes. I have never wanted a boring diamond ring and ….’ I looked down at the ring still encased in its velvet box ‘well this ring is possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The problem is that I am really not sure if I am comfortable in deceiving your parents about this. I know you don’t understand sentiment, but this is a big deal for us goldfish. If your mum finds out this was all some big piss take she’s going to be upset.’

‘Why?’

I sighed he really had no idea. ’Sherlock she’s your mum, she wants you to be happy.’

‘I have The Work, why do I need a wife and 2.4 children to be happy?’

‘God Sherlock, she wants you to have a support network, someone who will look after you unconditionally, love you no matter what. She wants you to experience the joys she has experienced in finding your dad and sharing a life with him. To experience the joy of holding your child in your arms, of watching them grow, explore the world and become their own person.’

‘But I do not want these things.’ He stated as if it was a matter of fact.

I shook my head, ‘I know.’ As I walked out the bedroom door I ended the conversation with ‘I will think about it Sherlock.’

 

A couple of days later I was in the flat alone watching The One Show with a cup of tea, when a phone started ringing, it wasn’t my mobile. It wasn’t Sherlock’s: his phone was practically surgically attached to him, therefore if he was out so was his phone. I searched the room, eventually finding the ringing landline under a pile of books, paperwork and other miscellaneous Sherlock junk on top of the bookcase by the window. I had lived here 10 months and until this moment had had no idea that we had a landline. I hesitantly answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Megan?’

‘Um yes’

‘Congratulations my darling. We couldn’t be happier to be welcoming you to the family’ _Oh Crap_ it was Sherlocks Mum _. I can’t do this, how do I get out of this_ I thought. Then I heard myself saying

‘Um thanks, I didn’t realise that Sherlock had told you. _’ Well Fuck, why did I say that. Oh god I have just inadvertently confirmed that we are engaged. BOLLOCKS._

‘Well no he hasn’t, you know what he is like. I have been trying to talk to him but he ignores every call I have made to him in the last week. No actually Mycroft told us and he has suggested that we have a family meal to celebrate and welcome you.’

_I bet he has. Another opportunity for big brother to taunt Sherlock, not happening._

‘Oh that would be lovely; Sherlock is in the middle of a big case at the moment though’

‘Oh good, well we will arrange it for in few weeks’ time then. You will convince Sherlock to come won’t you, he has a habit of developing very important cases whenever a family function arrives, the last one he didn’t turn up to because he took a case in Dubai to escape it.’

‘Yes I had noticed he does that, I find it best to spring these things on him at the last minute.’ _God no possible way of getting out of this now, stop talking Megan._

 

That is how I found myself in a taxi with Sherlock on my way to, not a posh restaurant as I had assumed Mycroft would arrange but, Mycroft’s house for Sunday lunch. We pulled up to a nice area of Kensington. ‘Ready? Sherlock asked. I nodded and followed him out of the taxi, digging in my bag to find the money to pay. But I was surprised to find Sherlock had beaten me to it, and then he grabbed my hand in his leather clad one and we walked together to the front door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Holmes Sunday lunch.

The door was pulled open by Mycroft as I had never seen him before. The normal jacket and tie were missing but the waistcoat was still on, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to mid forearm and a dishcloth slung over his left shoulder.  
‘Brother Mine and my delightful future sister in law’ he said his posh tone dripping with saccharine while his eyes flashed with his usual superiority and a dash of cunning, malicious, mischievousness. One look at his face and I knew that this was not going to be easy.  
‘Mycroft.’ Sherlock’s baritone rumbled from beside me as he squeezed my hand still clasped in his leather clad one, gently exerting a moments more pressure pulling me out of my thoughts, which had by the look of delight Mycroft gave me, had been written all over my face.  
‘Mycroft, thank you for the invite’ I said as I stepped forward and leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek. As I pulled back I clocked the stuttered expression so like Sherlock’s own computing face, and felt a flood of delight at being able to wrong foot him so early in the evening. ‘Shall we?’ I said pulling Sherlock forward through the door: Mycroft silently stepping back to let us through, clearly not quite recovered yet and working on autopilot.  
‘Something smells delicious Mycroft, did you cook?’ I asked over my shoulder as Sherlock and I hung up our coats. Mycroft blinked once slowly before coming back online, just as his parents came into the hall.  
‘Thank you Miss Dixon. I did indeed cook. I hope you will enjoy it.’  
‘Really Mycroft she has asked you before to call her Megan, you better get used to it. She won’t be Miss Dixon for much longer.’ Sherlock admonished slipping his arm around my waist and resting his now gloveless large hand on my hip. I turned to look up at him adoringly fully aware of our audience. He looked down at me and a smile quirked the corner of his mouth for a couple of seconds as his thumb started to rub small circles on my hip that didn’t stop when he moved his attention back to his parents. 

As I turned my gaze away I caught the moment that Mycroft clocked the motion of Sherlock’s thumb, his eyes narrowing minutely for a split second. Then I was distracted as Mrs Holmes slipping from behind Mycroft at pace, throwing her arms wide before enveloping both me and Sherlock in her grasp. I had to throw both of my arms out to stop myself from falling with her enthusiasm. One of my hands grabbing at Sherlock’s jacket as his grip on my hip strengthened, whether to hold myself, him or both of us up I was unsure. My other arm reached around to Mrs Holmes back where my hand fell with my fingers laying over Sherlock’s long digits. Then she pulled away from us, hands on her cheeks wiping away tears. Sherlock looked horrified.  
‘They’re happy tears Sherlock.’ I said unfurling my hand from his jacket and flattening it, moving it gently over the small of his back a couple of times in what I hoped would be comfort before stilling it.  
‘Happy tears?’ he questioned looking between me and his mum his face downgraded from horror now to confusion.  
‘Yep.’ I said popping the p, in his fashion as his mum nodded in agreement before taking a deep shuddering breath that she exhaled slowly pulling herself together before she linked her arm with mine. ‘Come to the sitting room with me dear and show me your ring.’ She said gently pulling me away. As I pulled my arm away from Sherlock I let if fall so my hand grazed over his arse cheek, just because I could.

Mycroft is many annoying, scheming, bad things however it turns out that he is a fantastic cook. The roast beef was succulent, the gravy (or jus as Mycroft called it) was smooth and perfectly complementary to the beef. The vegetables were plentiful, varied and all cooked perfectly. Sherlock ate more than I have ever seen him eat in one sitting ever. Dessert was just as amazing, a rich chocolate almond sponge with thick chocolate fondant sauce and strawberries.  
‘Mycroft, credit where credit is due, this entire meal is probably the best thing I have eaten all year. If I’d known you were this good a cook I would have invited myself over for dinner ages ago.’  
Mycroft thanked me appearing genuinely delighted at the complement as his cheeks flushed. ‘Thank you Miss…sorry Megan. Although I think the chances of getting Sherlock to come over for dinner more than once in a year would be improbable.’  
‘Who said anything about Sherlock coming? I’d have come without him for food this good.’ I said with a dismissive wave of my hand, direct from Sherlock’s repertoire   
Sherlock’s dad snorted at that and I looked up to see Sherlock looking around the table incredulously and a pout starting to form on his lips. ‘I think you might be engaged to the wrong one of my sons Megan. I don’t think there is much chance of Sherlock cooking for you ever. ‘  
I reached over to clasp Sherlock’s hand then where it was fisted on the table next to me. ‘Oh no Sherlock can cook, he is a graduate chemist after all’ I said interlacing my fingers with Sherlock’s. ‘He makes the best bacon sandwiches in the world.’ And as I said that his hand softened and turned palm up grasping mine again and it was the turn of his family to look incredulous. 

After dinner we ‘retired to the drawing room’ as Mycroft had put it. The drawing room was a dark wood panelled room with a collection of antique, but comfortable looking sofas and armchairs lit with a collection of small lamps. It screamed country manor and Mycroft.  
It seems that Sherlock’s protests that food slowed his ability to think down, may have had a grain of truth to them, as within a few minutes of sitting down on one of the sofas Sherlock had moved to lay down, his head in my lap. Following on from a snide comment from Mycroft about having his shoes on the furniture and Sherlock’s response of kicking each shoe off and letting it fall with a bang to the floor like a moody teenager, Sherlock fell asleep.  
As Sherlock slept the rest of us had had polite conversation without the man child interrupting. I had at some point unbeknown to myself begun to play with his curls. It was only when the conversation had moved back in a meandering loop to the ring on my finger that I noticed that my left hand was softly playing through the curls that graced Sherlock’s head. I say curls but by this point his once perfectly coiffed curls were becoming a tad frizzy from my subconscious ministrations. It had to be at this point of course that I felt the minute tensing in his neck to indicate that he was awake. My hand glided lightly over his hair in a vain hope of calming the mess I had made to his hair but to no avail, if anything I was actually just making it worse.  
Sherlock’s mother was still talking about the ring, ‘Where is it from dear?’  
‘I actually have no idea.’  
‘Oh! So my boy picked all by himself then.’  
‘Yes and very well, as I told him at the time it’s the most beautiful thing I have seen.’  
‘Oh well I’m glad his deducing skills have finally come in useful for something.’  
A still somewhat sleep infused rumble came from the head in my lap ‘Using them to catch criminals is not useful then Mummy?’ Then Sherlock sat abruptly up in his usual speed, this combined with the mess I had made his hair resulted in every one of us laughing as he sat stiffly looking like he had been electrocuted.  
‘What! What’s so funny?’ he asked turning to me, eyes narrowed and the deep crease of confusion at the top of his nose.  
‘I may have messed up your hair accidentally while you were sleeping.’   
He shot up eyes glancing around the room for a reflective surface before he stormed out. There was a moment of silence before we all fell about laughing again. I was pulled out of my laughing jag when my phone vibrated on the arm of the sofa.  
-For god’s sake, what have you done to my hair? SH  
-Sorry, I really didn’t mean to. Mx

5 minutes went by in which Sherlock neither returned or texted back then my phone vibrated again.  
-I need your assistance urgently. SH  
‘I have been summonsed, I really better go and apologise.’ There were two understanding nodded heads from Sherlock’s parents and no response at all from Mycroft, until I was half way out of the door.  
‘Megan in the bathroom cabinet of my en-suite you will find hair products, which may placate my dear brother. It’s the 1st door on the right on the second floor. you will undoubtedly find my brother in the bathroom on the first floor 2nd door on the right.’  
‘Thanks Mycroft.’ I nodded thanks as I left.

As I stepped up to the 1st floor bathroom, having already retrieved mouse, gel and wax from the floor above, the door was ripped open and a disgruntled Sherlock pulled me into the room.   
‘What am I supposed to do about this, we are supposed to be in love and I want to kill you.’ He exclaimed pacing the small space.  
‘You look but you do not see’ I exclaimed dropping my voice in a weak impersonation of his, hands still full and being ignored.  
He sharply rounded on me then before recognition dawned on his features and he scooped everything out of my hands, turning back to the mirror. I quietly slipped out of the room.

I waited sitting on the top step of the stairs for him and then started making my way down as I heard him coming out of the bathroom. I was halfway down when he said my name.  
‘Wait’ I slowed allowing him to catch up with me, his hand fell on my shoulder before pivoting as he stepped in front of me stopping me.’ I may have been a little overly irked about this.’ He indicated his once again perfect hair, with the hand that wasn’t holding me in place on the stairs.   
‘Overly irked! You said you were going to kill me.’  
‘Actually I said I wanted to kill you, not that I would.’ I tried to push pass him at this point, to find both of his hands gently pushing to hold me back against the wall of the stairs. ‘Megan what I am trying to say is s…sorry’ He said this looking over my head. I stayed silent until his eyes dropped down to my face. ‘I am sorry and…’ one of his hands dropped from my shoulder to my waist as his fore head dropped against mine eyes closing ‘….and I realised that I haven’t yet said …..’ he took a deep inhale ‘Thank you’  
I moved a hand to the back of his neck, and moved my head fractionally so that my nose slid to one side of his before whispering into our shared air ‘Sherlock?’  
‘Yes.’ A deep voice replied drawing out that one simple word as he moved fractionally closer to me.  
‘It’s my pleasure.’ And I gently placed my lips on his before pulling back minutely before his lips sought mine. We gently and leisurely kissed on the stairs pressed up against each other until a slight cough pulled us back to the present. Our hands were holding each other tightly, my leg wrapped around one of Sherlock’s holding him in place, and Mycroft was standing at the bottom of the stairs one eyebrow raised.   
‘Coffee is about to be served’ and with that he turned heel and walked away. I uncurled myself from Sherlock.  
‘Come on, can’t keep the British government and his parents waiting.’ I joked with a wink.  
Sherlock looked up me at flushed. ‘I may need a moment’ he looked down. Taking a glance for myself before pulling away with a pleased smile and making my way down the stairs again before commenting,’ will reciting the periodic table do the trick?’  
‘I find Mycroft related facts work better.’ He replied making me chortle in amusement.

As I walked down the hall I realised I was in real trouble, no matter how much I denied it to others, him and myself I’d fallen in love with the world’s only consulting detective. Fuck !


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom has a new master to soothe it called....

The following few months were filled with cases for Sherlock, a heavy workload for me and a fair amount of sex between the both of us. Sherlock was the same as he ever had been when working a case. Focused on only the case, no idea what day or time it was, loud, inconsiderate, basically a complete pain in the arse. But he was much easier to deal with when boredom tore at him with its claws. Boredom had a new master to soothe it called sex.

I got home from work on a hot sticky summers day, a couple of hours later than usual. I work for a consultancy firm that oversees corporate mergers. We had just taken on our biggest client yet, and that’s what had kept me at the office later than usual. When I got back I went straight to my room dumped my stuff and got in the shower, before putting on some pyjama shorts and a vest. When I walked back downstairs and went into the living room. I found Sherlock lying on the couch in shirt, trousers and bare feet. As I went to pass him he sat up his arm shooting out and wrapping around the top of my thighs, pulling me back until I was sat in his lap.  
‘Finished the case then?’ I asked pushing the wet tendrils of hair that had fallen forward when he’d grabbed me back behind my ears  
‘mmm this afternoon.’ He said whilst lightly tracing a random pattern over my exposed thigh with his index finger.  
‘What have you done with the rest of your day?’  
‘I re-categorised some items in my mind palace, and then nothing, it has been very hot and boring’ his whole hand was now slowly skimming up then down my thigh. I parted my legs a little more granting him access to my inner thigh.  
‘Oh that’s a shame.’ I moved back a little to settle myself more firmly in his lap.  
‘It’s ok now though.’ He murmured his mouth right next to my ear and the vibrations of his voice running from his chest into my back where we were pressed together.  
‘Oh why?’  
‘I don’t think the rest of this evening will be boring at all.’ He replied before his lips latched onto my pulse point at the base of my neck, sucking gently before moving to kiss up my neck to my ear, where his teeth pulled gently at my earlobe. 

His hands now worked together to firmly pull my thighs apart before he smoothly and slowly moved them from my knee to the apex of my thighs all the while kissing and nipping at random spots between my left shoulder and ear. He paused when his hands reached the top of my thighs. A moment of stillness from both of us before his voice cut through the calm ‘Tonight I want you naked and begging me to take you on this couch.’  
I let out a small whimper at his words which morphed into a longer drawn out whimper as his fingers finally began to move further continuing under my shorts to find me wet and open to him. ‘No knickers? I approve’ he said as his thumb traced over me before he was parting me and slowly pushing one long finger into my depths. I felt heat flush over my whole body. I needed more. I wanted his lips, his kisses. I needed to see his eyes, witness the dilation of his pupils as the lust of his transport overtook the logic of his brain. As he pulled out I raised and moved to kneel between his parted thighs, for once looking down at him. We locked eyes before I pulled my vest over my head. Before I had even dropped my hands back down one of his large warm palms was cupping my left breast as his head made the small move forward to latch on to my right nipple with his warm mouth. I clung to his shoulders like a drowning woman as he moved from breast to breast favouring both with attention. He moved away from my chest to feather kisses up my neck as large hands stroked down my sides before resting at my hips on the waistband of my shorts. As I bent my neck to kiss him his hands dipped into the waistband and as my tongue moved to taste his mouth, his hands smoothed over the globes of my arse, before moving back to my waistband and pulling them down till they fell at my knees. I wanted him badly.

I drooped lower to grasp at his waist frantically moving to find the button. He moved my hands away and unbuttoned and unzipped himself as I fell to my knees on the floor between his bare feet, shorts falling off as I did so. I grasped his waistband again to pull his now loose trousers and pants down as he lifted his hips to help. As he kicked them from his ankles I moved forward until his rapidly hardening shaft was inches from my lips before looking up to catch his eyes. He was flushed and holding his breath, his eyes held mine as I slowly lowered myself to his cock. As my lips closed around his head and the tip of my tongue traced a slow dragging circle around it his eyes left mine as he threw his head back a fraction, eyes closing and a soft ‘urgh’ of satisfaction issued from his throat. As I sucked at the head of his cock and pumped a slow rhythm with my hand on the remaining shaft, the noises and gasps he made had me reaching down to play with my clit in the same rhythm my hand was pumping on his cock. 

The persona that Sherlock portrayed to the world at large would never have it possible for him to be able to make these sounds, these sounds that I was drawing from him. Being able to bring Sherlock to this, being allowed to witness this was not only the biggest turn on, but also made me feel empowered. I sucked deeply before releasing him from my mouth and standing to pull him up. He stood in front of me cock red and jutted up against his stomach. We kissed passionately again, a hard press of lips and teeth. As I drew back I ran my hand over his shaft, from his balls to head, before moving past him to kneel once again on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward to press my face to the back of it.  
‘I need you to take me now Sherlock’ I didn’t beg as he had promised I would, I demanded. Hands almost instantly grasped my hips and in second I could feel his head slick with pre-come nudging at me. He was taking too long I needed it now, so I demanded once more. ‘Sherlock, Fuck Me!’ and with those words he glided into me in one full, hard, deep thrust. He didn’t stop until we were both spent, flushed, panting and slick with sweat and laid on the sofa curled into each other.

I let myself imagine for a few seconds that he felt the way I did, post orgasmic and overflowing with love for the lover who had bought me to this state, before I shut that thought down and aimed to settle for what he was able to give me.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock had already snuck from my bed by the time my alarm rang at 6.00 the next morning for my early morning breakfast meeting. All I could think was that I really needed to get more sleep. Slipping downstairs in my most professional pale grey pencil skirt and cream shirt. I entered the kitchen to find my travel mug sat beside the kettle. When I picked it up it was warm and full and I found on opening it that it was full of fragrant steaming coffee. Sherlock must have done this, Mrs Hudson wouldn’t be awake I went to find him to thank him. The flat was Sherlock less, so I grabbed my phone and texted him  
-Did you make me coffee? Mx  
-I believe it is a social norm to offer some sort of greeting before posing questions, and yes I did. SHx  
-Ok. Good morning. Why? Mx  
-Why what? SHx  
-Why did you make me coffee? Is it edible or part of one of your experiments? Tell me truthfully Sherlock! Mx  
-You do not function in the morning without coffee. I was making myself one and you were going to leave in approximately 25 minutes not having yet had a cup, so I made one for you. SH x

I was just about to send him a text saying; What do you want? Last time you made me a drink you wanted me to be your fake girlfriend Sherlock. At the last moment I remembered Sherlock’s insistence that Mycroft monitored his phone so I responded with this instead.  
-Thank you Sherlock. Where have you gone anyway? I had factored in some extra time this morning to ravish you and your insatiable body. You know I love sucking you off in the morning. I was very disappointed to find you gone. ;) M XXXX  
I was pretty sure he would clock to the fact the message was written for the purpose of embarrassing Mycroft, what with my grumpy morning persona and the fact that I made it sound like morning sex was a common occurrence when it had never before factored into our current arrangement.  
A few minutes later just as I approaching baker st tube station the text I received in reply confirmed that he was indeed the genius that I knew him to be.  
-Believe me if Lestrade hadn’t begged for my assistance this morning at a triple murder, I would have woken you long before your scheduled alarm in the way I know you like best. Playing with your nipple as I press kisses to that sensitive spot just below your ear lobe, my morning wood nestled between your thighs as a sign of what I intend to give to you…. SH x  
15 seconds later  
-….but only once I had you begging for it. SH x  
I paused knowing I would lose signal once I entered the underground but determined to reply.  
-About to loss signal on the tube darling, but for your information you should know that if you make it home tonight I intend to show you exactly what you were missing this morning. The second you walk through the door in fact, so don’t bring John back with you…unless you want an audience. ;) M x  
Having sent that I turned my phone off and walked happily down into the crowded bowels of the London transport system.

A couple of hour later I was out of the meeting and sitting at my desk chatting with Joan and Dan my colleagues who I shared this little section of this office with. I had turned my phone back on when I got back to my desk and it began to vibrate on the desk, I had a new message from Sherlock. When I opened it I saw that he had sent it just as I had been turning my phone off this morning.  
-Thank god for the tubes rubbish Wifi. Trying to tackle an erection at a crime scene is awkward, luckily I am wearing my coat. I need the blood to be flowing to my brain not my penis, have a good day and stop texting me you minx. SH x  
I let out an undignified snort of amusement at this, just as I noticed a red dot on my chest. Dan had turned at my snort and the next thing I knew he was leaping from his chair towards me.


	16. Chapter 16

I suppose everyone responds to situations differently depending on what sort of person you are. I assume the way people respond to shock is individual as well. I had always though that it would be blurry, fuzzy and when you emerged from it you would have no knowledge of what had happened while your brain had been trying to process the new situation you found yourself in. In reality I had perfect clarity as to what had happened. I could recall all that had happened and had been said around me, but it appeared that while I had been in shock I was unresponsive. I knew what was happening but I had no desire or ability to communicate with others.

I heard the crumple of the glass window, the whine of the bullet and the hard shove at my shoulder causing me and my chair to spin away, before Dan fell at my feet with a grunt of pain. For a second I had no idea what had happened then Dan was yelling at me the pain clear in his voice ‘Megan listen to me. Get under the desk, with your back to the filing cabinet. Now Megan!’ I fell from my chair and did as I was told. Then screwed my eyes shut tight overcome as I heard Dan saying ‘ bba2md under attack by sniper, protection hit. Reinforcements needed ASAP……No she is as protected as it was possible for me to achieve in my current predicament.’ The sound of others fleeing the building dissipated until all I could hear was the heavy laboured breath of Dan. After what felt like hours but was probably just minutes Dan’s voice, weaker than before, cut into my head again. ‘Megan go with the police now.’ I unscrewed my eyes to find a woman in full S.W.A.T gear reaching into my under desk safety with her hand out stretched to me. I silently did as Dan had instructed crawling out and hurriedly being bustled away from my desk to the inner office only catching a glimpse of Dan still lying where he had fallen. As I was moved to the staircase a pair of paramedics rushed past. When I was on the ground floor I was guided quickly and efficiently to a side door that I hadn’t known existed and found myself being gently but none the less unceremoniously bundled into the back of a car. An arm reaching across me to reach the seatbelt and buckle me in as the car glided at speed out of the alley and tore out into the London traffic. When I finally did look up from my lap where I had been twirling Sherlock’s ring around my right ring finger I found myself looking at Mycroft.

Mycroft assessed me for a while as I stared at him before he clearly pronounced ‘Dan, the name under which you know him, is one of your protection detail. Do not feel guilt he was doing his job.’ I turned away from him then looking out the window as I thought _He could die from trying to protect me,_ but I didn’t utter a sound. The car picked up more speed as the congestion of the inner city thinned and the car moved out to the suburbs before joining a major A road. The scenery turned from urban sprawl to rolling countryside. Leaving the A road we drove through small villages before turning onto small winding country lanes finally pulling to a stop in what appeared to be the middle of fields. The sound of Mycroft’s door opening and closing with a soft thunk did nothing to pull me to get out of the car. Seconds later my door was pulled open and Mycroft crouched down to hold eye contact with me after he had leaned over me to un-belt the seat belt in reverse of his earlier actions. His hands gently grasped both of mine and I swivelled my body to fully face the open door. Then Mycroft’s fingers were gently removing my ring from my right hand and pushing it gently onto the ring finger of my left hand. Having done so he gently pulled at my hands and I silently pulled my legs from the car until I was standing next to him. Pulling me away from the door he shut it before an arm encircled my shoulder and he turned me in the direction of a red painted cottage. Before we had even made it to the gate the door was thrown open and Mrs Holmes came tearing down the path a positive flurry of clucking and exclamations of my poor girl, before she enfolded me in a motherly hug stroking my hair as I stood rigidly in her arms. ‘Mummy she is in shock let’s get her inside sharpish shall we?’ and between them I was guided into the warm comforting Holmes home.

Time passed as I sat on the sofa in Sherlock’s parents living room, the window was wide open allowing a pleasant breeze to stir through the room and the sound of birdsong to permeate the silence in the times when Mrs Holmes was out of the room. When she was in it there was a gentle burble of conversation as Sherlock’s parents talked to each other or told me stories about Mycroft and Sherlock childhood, finishing each other’s sentences. I didn’t notice his leaving but I saw no more of Mycroft once I was settled on the sofa so I assume that he left as soon as he had delivered me. At some point in the afternoon Mary and Amy arrived. Amy was asleep and was carefully placed on the other end of the sofa from me by Mary before she herself took the seat beside me. ‘Sherlock and John will be here as soon as they can Megan.’ I turned silently to look at her. She nodded her head as she bit her bottom lip. Her wide blue eyes studying me in a fashion eerily like Sherlock’s before she continued. ‘They are out doing their thing. They are going to find the bastard that tried to hurt you.’ She grasped my hand then drawing my attention back to her from where I had been twisting the fake engagement ring around and around my finger. ‘Woe betide the bloody git once Sherlock gets his hands on him, hopefully John will be able to stop him from killing him. Megan I have never seen him so angry.’ She quietly added before she lapsed back into silence holding my hand still in comfort.

When Amy had woken Mary took her to the kitchen, leaving me in precious peace again. I could hear them talking in the kitchen although I could not hear what was being said. I had fazed them out and was concentrating on the sweet birdsong and the smell of recently cut grass carried on the breeze when the slamming of a door jolted me and my attention was bought back to the kitchen. The soft noise was now more of a rumble as I could pick out more masculine tones. Then voices were moving towards me, clear voices that I knew.

‘She’s in shock Sherlock, you can’t tear in there and question her.’

‘Obviously not John, she’s not uttered a word. What would be the point?’

‘Well yes but she’s fragile. I’ll go have a look at her and then we’ll see.’

‘NO!’

‘Sorry, but she needs a doctor Sherlock.’

‘No she needs her fiancé. Give me two minutes then you may see her.’

The door opened to John’s exhale of ‘Fiancé?’ before the door shut again, I looked up at the doorway to find Sherlock standing, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at me. I could feel hysteria rising in me, the cold feeling of detachment which had shielded me from feeling dropping away in large chunks, like a chalk cliff face crumbling to leave a new blinding white exposure of raw emotion. I felt my face fall and tears blurred my vision then swiftly falling in wet trails down my cheeks before I was gathered up in strong arms and pulled onto Sherlock’s lap. Sobs racked my chest as I shakily drew in breath against his shoulder where my face was wedged. I was still noisily sobbing when the door opened again. Sherlock’s voice rumbled against my ear now pressed to his chest as he asked John to give us more time. John didn’t say anything so I imagine he had just given a wordless nod before closing the door behind us.

My tears had ceased but my breath was still coming in gasps and hiccups when footsteps came back towards the door. Sherlock dropped a light kiss to my forehead before moving his head away from mine but he continued to stroke my hair and hold me tight against his chest. Mary came in a cup of tea in one hand and the other arm carrying Amy on her hip, John swiftly followed her, another cup of tea in his hand. ‘We bought tea because, well we are British.’ John said. I shifted out of Sherlock’s lap to sit beside him on the sofa but he didn’t release me just moved his arm to rest over my shoulders pulling me flush against his side. As Mary bent to give Sherlock the tea Amy struggled to get out of her grip with a little plea of ‘Shock’, her grasp of his name having improved over the months. Mary looked at me as I gave a small nod before she released her to his lap. John after passing my tea over to me went out and came back with a cup for Mary and him. Amy was contentedly talking to Sherlock mostly about dog, which must be the orange soft toy that she carried around everywhere with her.

Once John and Mary were sitting in the arm chairs next to the fireplace Sherlock began to talk. ‘Megan they know who he is and are hunting him down right now. His name is Moran and …..well actually that doesn’t matter. I expect Mycroft to ring soon to tell me he has been apprehended.’ I just nodded with a large inhale of breath. John then coughed before saying ‘Your colleague Dan is going to be alright as well, it is just a shoulder wound. It will be bloody painful but he will be out of hospital in no time.’ The tears I had had under control until then began to stream down my face again; although this time they were quiet without the uncontrollable sobbing of earlier. Sherlock pulled me closer again pressing another kiss to my hair. And then a small body climbed over onto my lap and gave me an unrestrained full body hug, which only a child can give. I hugged her back. Then she pulled back hugging dog to her neck before holding him out to me and placing him at my neck for me to hug. I gave him a little hug as she looked at me. Then put him back in her hand. My voice croaked from a mixture of not having used it for hours and the copious tears I had shed, as I said ‘Thank you Amy.’ She gave me a beaming smile before her and dog climbed off the sofa to play on the floor together.


	17. Chapter 17

The rest of the afternoon and early evening moved in a slow jumble of multiple cups of tea, slices of cake, which Amy seemed very enamoured with, and gentle conversation which I assumed was aimed at keeping me from slipping back into my prior shocked stupor. All throughout this Sherlock stayed by myside arm either around my shoulder or hand grasping mine in his. He often drifted off into his mind palace in this time. It was while he was firmly ensconced in it that the conversation moved back towards Mycroft and Sherlock’s childhood and shockingly the conversation was not started by Mummy but by John. I saw him look searchingly at Sherlock before giving himself a quick perfunctory nod before asking  
‘So Mr and Mrs Holmes there is something I have wanted to know about Sherlock for years now.’  
‘What’s that John?’ asked Mr Homes his interest stirring him from where he had been sitting on the window seat.  
‘Well, Mycroft once told me that when he was small Sherlock wanted to be a pirate. Is that true?’ Mary, John and my full attention was now focussed on Sherlock’s parents. Sherlock must have sensed the change in the room as we waited on bated breath, and his hand tightened on mine as he slowly regained focus on the room just as his mother started to speak.  
‘Oh yes, he spent hours at the pond, built himself a raft and he and Redbeard would sail the seven seas on it.’  
‘Redbeard?’ queried Mary laughter flirting in her tone of voice.  
‘He was…..’   
‘Enough’ Sherlock’s voice cut in ‘enough inane mutterings, shouldn’t you be making more tea or a shepherd’s pie or some similar atrocity Mummy dearest?’  
Mrs Holmes got up from the sofa then moving over to the side that Sherlock was sitting on before ruffling his hair affectionately before he managed to jerk out the way his familiar pout of distaste settling on his face. Mrs Holmes moved away with a smirk before throwing over her shoulder.   
‘Of course it is Shepherd’s pie for dinner Sherlock, Mycroft had his people bring all we needed to make your favourite before you even set foot in Sussex. I shall start on it now.’ And she winked at him. The pout stayed in place but I didn’t miss the microsecond of pleasure that flashed in his eyes.

Mary and John went to help make Shepherd’s pie, although I guessed that this was just a thinly veiled ruse to pump Mrs Holmes for more pirate Sherlock stories, which was not missed by Sherlock. He let them go but not before glowering at them. We sat quietly for a few minutes before Mr Holmes asked ‘Megan would you like to have a quick shower while dinner is being prepared? I’m sure there are enough left over clothes in Sherlock and Mycroft’s old wardrobes that you’ll be able to find something that will suffice until Mycroft’s people bring some of your things.’ The thought of a hot shower washing away the grime, tears and undignified amount of snot, sounded like bliss. It also might help the bruise that I knew had come up between my left shoulder and breast from where Dan had pushed me forcibly out the way of a bullet that morning.  
‘Actually that would be amazing. Thank you.’  
‘Sherlock would you do the honours and this time show her how the old piping works, she doesn’t need a scalding on top of everything else.’  
Sherlock was already up and pulling me with him. ‘Scalding is reserved for idiots father you know that.’ He said as we left the room.   
‘So does that mean I’m not an idiot then? High praise indeed in the Holmes household.’ I asked following Sherlock and his perfectly formed arse up the twisty stairs of the cottage.  
A distracted ‘hmm’ was all the response I got.

He opened a door at the top of the stairs and stepped through. Following him I stepped into a guest bedroom. Sherlock stood in front of a wardrobe as I looked around the room. As I continued to look around the room small things stood out as more personal. Next to the wardrobe was a small worn desk which had a digital clock with wires coming out of it plugged into…. a potato, above this desk was a small a5 sized framed with a faded pencil drawing of a pirate and a pirate dog on a desert island a chest of treasure at their feet. The bedside table had a small test tube rack and 5 test tubes each with an individual flower in, an ox eyed daisy, a Japanese anemone, a pale pink rose and two other flowers that I didn’t know the names of.   
‘This is your childhood bedroom isn’t it?’  
‘Obviously.’  
‘How does the clock work?’  
‘Simple electrochemical battery’  
‘Of course!!!’  
He looked at me ‘Sarcasm?’  
‘Well done.’  
‘It’s primary school science.’  
‘Must have missed that week.’ Surprisingly he dropped the subject with a shrug of his shoulders and threw open the wardrobe, ‘help yourself.’  
I was scanning through the contents of the wardrobe. It contained a surprising amount of checked shirts and no fine tailored suits. ‘Whose clothes are these?’ I asked as I peeked around the wardrobe door to find Sherlock had pulled up a corner of the carpet and was using his pen knife to try and prise up one of the floorboards.  
He glanced up ‘Mine when I was younger.’ Noting my confusion he continued ‘my fashion choices have matured since then, as I assume yours have.’ I nodded in agreement thinking of the lime green miniskirt I had worn to death when I was 16. He had gone back to the task in hand.

‘What are you doing Sherlock?’ he just held a hand up to silence me and then the board gave a pop as it was prised up and he shoved his hand in before pulling it back out again in triumph before jumping up to show me the small skull sat in his palm.  
‘Ok and that is the skull of?’  
‘Sorex araneus’  
‘Nice name, better than Billy.’ He just looked blankly at me. ‘And sore ex your anus is Latin for?’  
‘Sorex araneus- the common shrew.’  
‘Lovely-why do you keep it under the floorboards in your old bedroom?’  
‘It is what I suppose you would call a family tradition now. When I was a child I collected all these skulls that I found, by the time I left for university my room was full of them. They were the first experiments that I conducted into decomposition, still using things I learnt from them today.’ The excited glimpse in his face faded when he noticed my disgust. ‘I didn’t kill them, but if I found them I would go back and observe and learn from it.’ He said in an exasperated tone.  
I took a gulp of air before giving a nod. ‘Ok I can see the scientific merits.’ His eyes didn’t leave mine until I gave another nod of my head.’ So why are they under the floorboards?’  
‘Ah yes, so when I left for university Mummy insisted that I removed them from the room or she would get Mycroft to do it. So I hid them all under the floorboards, and for years that’s where they stayed. Then one excruciating Christmas I got one out and left it on the desk when I left. Mummy went mad, and ever since every time I come back I get one out and leave it somewhere for her to find when I’m gone.’  
‘Like a macabre treasure hunt.’   
‘No I’ve never drawn a map to help her find one before, although it has merit as a possible idea for the future. Anyway I trust you can be relied on to maintain your silence as to the location of my macabre hoard.’  
‘Yeah alright then you crazy bastard, your secret is safe with me.’  
‘Good, now’ he said one arm wind milling above my head in the direction of the still open wardrobe, ‘Choose a shirt. I will be back momentarily.’ And he bounced from the room, leaving the small skull on the desk as he did so.

I went back to the wardrobe running my hand through the shirts until I selected a super soft red and black checked one, it was faded and worn and had obviously been washed many times over the years. Sherlock came back into the room holding a pair of grey striped cotton pajama pants aloft. I’m afraid they used to be Mycroft’s but mine would never fit I was slimmer in my teens.’ If anybody else had said that I would have been offended, but it was a simple fact coming from Sherlock. I have a woman’s hips and curves. I am not stick thin and I would never fit in any of his trousers now let alone from when he was thinner. He scooped the shirt from my hands and then led me out the room before opening another door off the landing. I found myself being led by the hand into the bathroom. My new outfit was left on the lid of a wicker laundry basket, while Sherlock pulled out towels from the airing cupboard. He then busied himself turning on the shower and fiddling with it.   
‘Perfect temperature, no scalding for you.’ He said with a wink. ’I’ll wait for you down stairs’ and he turned to the door. My hand shot out before I knew it and grabbed his arm.  
‘Sherlock, can you…. Can you stay….please. Sorry but can you talk to me while I shower. I ..I need…a distraction.’ He stared at me deducing me steadily, before he dipped his head in a single nod of agreement.   
‘What do you want me to talk about?’ he asked as he settled himself cross legged at the bottom of the tub resting his back against the white washed pine paneling and facing away from me.  
‘Anything Sherlock, cases, experiments, hell you can even tell me about your small mammal decomposition studies if you want, just distract me from my thoughts.’  
And that is what he did. I undressed as he told me about the experiments he had undertaken on mice and rats and to his excitement a badger once in his childhood. I had to pull him from his recount, when I realised I couldn’t get my bra undone due to the bruise on my shoulder. He unfolded from the floor when I explained and gently and nimbly ran his fingers over the emerging bruise before he unclasped me and settled himself back down in his deserted spot, only saying that John should look at it after I showered before he went back to telling me about one experiment where he found two mice on one day and was able to compare rates of decomposition.

I climbed into the water and allowed the hot water and the timbre of his voice to wash over me easing my body and mind of the exertions and strains of my day. When I had finished washing my hair, which was difficult but not impossible to do with the ache of my shoulder, I wrapped myself in warm soft towels and dried myself. Sherlock continued to talk to me, he had moved on to a case now and as I focused back in on the content of what he was saying rather than the timbre and deep baritone as I had been I realised he was telling me of a case he solved as a teenager.  
‘… the mud in the tread of his shoe was not from the woods he was accused of poaching from, but he had admitted to the crime. I kept walking into the station to point this out to the idiots that called themselves detectives, but was never allowed to talk to anybody of any importance to the investigation. Kept calling me a child, I was 13 and smarter than the whole Sussex police force combined. So I had to do it myself of course. I only had to trace the source of the mud that was in the tread to identify the real poacher. The clay had evidence of fresh water fish remains in it. Took me less than half a day to work out that the poacher was the accused’s brother. The brother had been poaching while the accused had been visiting his brother’s wife in the summer house at the bottom of their river front garden. The brother had come home found them in a compromising position. Knowing that he had been seen, would be caught soon and would go to prison this time due to a line of previous offenses, he convinced and/ or threatened until he convinced the accused to take the rap.’  
‘Wow and you really solved that at 13 on your own?’ I asked as I finished buttoning up the shirt. I had already put on the pj bottoms, having had to roll them up a lot so I wouldn’t trip over and break my nose, damn Holmes men for having such long legs.  
‘Of course it was child’s play.’  
‘Literally’  
‘Indeed! Lets get John to have a look at that contusion.’ He unfurled from the floor ushering me out the door in the direction of the bedroom yelling ‘John’ down the stairs as he walked. 

We went down to eat once John had declared that I was fine it was just the bruise causing me discomfort, nothing else appeared to have been injured. Dinner was comforting and delicious. From the corner of my eye I could see Sherlock taking large forkfuls of the pie when nobody appeared to be looking his way, but he didn’t touch one of the vegetables.

The rest of the evening I found myself back on the sofa and after yet another cup of tea I found my sockless feet getting cold. I pulled my legs up to my knees as I did this Sherlock got up leaving the room before quickly coming back with his Belstaff. I felt I jolt of dismay that he was leaving until he sat back down next to me, pulled me to him until my knees where resting over his thighs and my head was resting just below his shoulder and then he swung the coat over me so that it covered me from shoulder to feet. There I stayed curled against Sherlock warm and increasingly sleepy, until the arrival of a couple of ‘Mycroft’s Minions’ as Sherlock called them. They arrived with overnight bags for all of us and a cot bed for Amy, which they promptly went and put up in Mycroft’s old room which the Watsons were using for the night. Once’ MI6- the Ikea division’ as John had nicknamed them had left, Mary went to put an exhausted Amy to bed. I wasn’t far behind Amy in the exhaustion stakes, something which Mrs Holmes had obviously taken note of.  
‘Sherlock, take Megan to bed please. Your fiancée is exhausted.’ Her tone was authoritative as if she was expecting him to put up a fight.  
‘Yes Mummy, Shall we head up Megan?’ he asked looking down at me where I was still encased in my Belstaff cocoon.  
I nodded wearily and moved off him so we could both stand.  
‘Thank you both for your kindness today and for letting me take refuge in your home.’ I said addressing Sherlock’s parents.  
‘You are family now Megan, our home is always open to you.’ replied Mrs Holmes with a gentle smile.  
‘Enough Megan, you’re making her sentimental if you don’t stop she will try to hug me again.’ complained Sherlock. ‘Goodnight Mummy, Father. Good night John.’ And with that he left the room bending in the hall to pick up two bags before he headed up the stairs. I said a quick goodnight and followed him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stress and emotions culminate.

I removed the pajama bottoms, putting on clean knickers from the bag the minions had bought and was about to take off the shirt when I reconsidered. It didn’t smell of Sherlock; it had spent too long abandoned in a musty wardrobe for that, but it was comforting to be wearing something of his. Deciding to keep it on I slid under the duvet closing my eyes desperate for sleep. I heard Sherlock come back into the room and rummage around in a bag, then he leapt on the bed. I opened my eyes, rubbing them as they felt gritty and sore from my prolonged episodes of crying and my overwhelming tiredness, to find him knees on the pillows and one long arm reaching down behind the headboard.   
‘Sherlock please tell me there aren’t more small animal bones secreted away under the bed.’  
‘No, power socket’ he exclaimed as he wrenched his arm free and fell smoothly from his knees to his butt, pulling his knees up and opening his laptop that he balanced on them. I turned back on my side and closed my eyes again waiting for sleep to claim me. 

Half an hour later after having listened to the laptop wiring to life, the gentle taps of Sherlock typing at random intervals and the muted noise of others in the house, I thumped my pillow in frustration sitting up suddenly. Sherlock didn’t react clearly aware that I had not been asleep. After 30 second or so his eyes flicked to me before they fell back to the laptop. Then he started talking, or to be more precise reading aloud.   
‘A serious fire in South East London is still burning after 7 hours despite the attendance of 130 firefighters in an attempt to put it out. Fire services were called to the complex in West Norwood this afternoon and despite the best efforts the fire has now moved from its original point of origin, at Oldacre Builders Yard, throughout the entire complex of warehouses. The area encompassed 8 separate units all of which have now been engulfed in flames. A spokesman from the London Fire Brigade explained that the Victorian warehouses……’ He continued reading the whole of this story and the next report about a stabbing in Lewisham. He was partway through the piece about the re development of a stretch of the Regents canal that runs through Islington, when I lay back down in the bed this time facing him and pulled the duvet up over my shoulder. He paused and looked down at me raising an eyebrow in question. ‘Carry on it’s …….your voice is soothing.’ His lip quirked at that but he looked back to the laptop and continued. A few stories later his hand found mine under the covers and I fell asleep to the murmur of his baritone voice reverberating, my hand held securely in his. 

The potato clock told me it was 3.19 when the ringing of Sherlock’s phone woke me.  
‘Mycroft’ he whispered as he padded out of the bedroom in nothing but pajama bottoms. I attempted to fall back to sleep but sat up when I realized it wasn’t possible. I was just about to get out of bed to find Sherlock and insist he told me what had happened, when he crept stealthily back into the room again, his iPhone clasped loosely in his left hand. I watched silently as he padded around the bed dropping the phone on the bedside table and sliding under the duvet, lying on his back. It was only then that he looked at me.  
‘Well, Mycroft had news?’ I asked hesitently.  
‘Moran has been caught, Mycroft assures me there is no chance of him causing or attempting to cause you harm in the future.’  
I looked away trying to contain the onslaught of emotion his statement had caused me but I failed miserably until my only option was to slid down the bed and bury my face in the pillow as I started to sob once again. After a short while I was literally pulled from my anguish when a large warm palm slowly traversed across my lower back hesitantly, it wasn’t a practiced comforting move rather an approximation of a comforting gesture, like it was a memory of an action he had observed before that he had dragged from some dusty corner of his mind palace. Then his hand was at my hip pushing me until my body was turned to face his, although my head was still buried in the pillow.  
‘Megan? I don’t understand, why are you upset? Look at me. I need to see your face. Don’t you understand? You are safe Meg.’  
The unexpected abbreviation of my name was what finally caused me to raise my head to look at him. I was shocked to see the face of a much younger Sherlock before me. I had been expecting the confusion mixed with annoyed expression that normally graced his face when he came across something he didn’t understand. The perplexed look on his face that greeted me now though held no underlying annoyance but in its place was undeniably a tenderness I had never seen before. It was this that made him appear younger. I managed to control myself to reassure him.   
‘I am relieved Sherlock and overly emotional. I will be fine. Give me a minute.’

I didn’t get as much as 10 seconds as relieve washed over his features and I was pulled fully up against his bare chest and he settled my head under his chin. My arms and hands were pinioned between us and I was unsure what to do with them but I had to move them from the uncomfortable position they found themselves in. I gently removed my free arm and placed it over Sherlock’s waist, the other I turned so that I could rest my palm against his chest. I felt him inhale deeply and he lifted his chin as his hand at my back pulled me closer. I lifted my head from his chest to find him looking at me lips parted and an unreadable expression on his face for a few seconds. Then his eyes focussed on mine, momentarily flicking to my lips and back to my eyes before he lowered his head slowly to capture my lips gently. It was barely more than a slow slide of lips before he drew back to a distance from which he could focus on my eyes again.

When he caught my lips once more the kiss was more substantial but still as slow, gliding and gentle as the last. As it continued we exerted fractionally more pressure, it became wetter with the introduction of the glide of tongues over each other, but it remained languid and slow. Frequent breaks were made to maintain eye contact. Eventually nibbles to lips and the slow glide of lips to necks and earlobes were introduced and when we next broke to look at each other again I found myself on my back with Sherlock looking down at me, lips pink, parted and lightly gasping. His eyes were wide black pupils encased in a thin lighter circle, the colour of which was indecipherable in the dark. They stared into my own eyes as he moved his leg over, placing it between mine which I'd parted to accommodate him. Then he stilled looking at me until I gave a small nod and reached up to pull him down to me my fingertips moving from his neck to caress the curls at his nape.

The removal of clothes and a slow, gentle exploration of each other with gentle hands, lips and tongues led us to this moment. Sherlock entering me as he nuzzled at my neck laving his tongue over my carotid artery that he had perfect access to as I had my head thrown back. Once he was fully seated I felt him leave my neck and then he was whispering   
‘Meg, open your eyes. Look at me I need to see you.’  
Only once I had opened my eyes did he start to move, when he did it was a smooth full glide in and out of me. His pace on entry gradually picked up as I curled my legs around his waist pulling him into me, but he agonised me with his glacial paced withdrawl as we kissed and nipped at each other. Only when I was teetering on the edge did he fasten the pace sufficiently, puling himself up to his knees and holding me by the hips he looked down at me with hooded eyes before he pounded into me, he had barely started before my orgasm burst through me and I fought not to cry out my pleasure. I opened my eyes again in time to see Sherlock’s eyes close as he jerked into me hard and came, his mouth a wide O of surprise.

When his muscles released he tumbled forward, simultaneously pulling out of me, his head coming to lie just under my left breast. I carded my hand through sweaty curls as he caught his breath until with his normal spring of movement he pulled himself up and off me. Grabbing his discarded T-shirt from the floor he cleaned us both as we kissed again before settling himself on the bed and pulling me up against him and out of the wet patch. There we both fell asleep spooned together hands intertwined over my stomach. My last though before sleep took me was of wonder. Did Sherlock know that we hadn’t just had sex? What had just happened was the very definition of ‘making love’.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before was not what Megan had hoped for.

It transpired that Sherlock was aware that we had made love. And it had scared the shit out of him. I woke up the next morning alone in bed. It took a few minutes before I realised he was gone from the cottage, there was now only one case on the bedroom floor. I got up pulling on shirt and PJ bottoms before I noticed a folded slip of paper on the desk, pinned down with the vole skull. ‘Megan’ was scrawled across it in Sherlock’s unmistakable handwriting. I opened it and read the single sentence.

_Megan_

_I have returned to London._

_Sherlock_

I refolded it and put it back on the desk with a sigh, before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

 

I was surprised to find Mycroft sitting at the table a cup of coffee and a half eaten slice of marmalade toast before him. His eyebrow rose in greeting as I stepped through the door.

‘Good morning Megan.’

‘Hello Mycroft. Thank you for everything you did yesterday. I really appr…’

He cut me off with a raised hand and a small shake of his head. ‘Think nothing of it Megan’ He said then got up to clear his plate. Surprisingly as he moved past Amelia in her high chair he placed a crust from his toast in front of her which she latched on to straight away and proceeded to use to bash the tabletop with.

I sat down next to Mary as Mr Holmes poured me coffee and Mary asked my opinion about a dress she was thinking of getting from Debenhams. Our chat was interrupted when John asked where Sherlock was.

‘He’s gone back to London.’ I answered continuing to fiddle with Mary’s phone pretending to care about Debenhams dresses. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was upset that Sherlock had left abruptly after last night: I most definitely did not want a room of Holmes’ to deduce it.

‘Why? He didn’t tell me we had a case’ continued John.

Mycroft interjected then. ‘Wonders will never cease, I do believe my brother has finally though about somebody other than himself and deduced that you may want to spend the night with your wife and child after a stressful day rather than play Robin to his Batman.’ He gave a mock surprised look before his face fell to more businesslike demeanor. ‘Now if it is acceptable to you all I have bought sufficient cars with me to transport you all back to you abodes this morning. If you are amenable I suggest that we leave in an hour.’

 

An hour later I found myself hugging Sherlock’s parents’ goodbye after John, Mary and Amy had already left in their own government vehicle. The last thing Mrs Holmes said to me before I left was to keep looking after her boy. ‘I have never seen him so content before.’

We were halfway back to London before Mycroft began talking to me. ‘Megan I regret to tell you that you will not be returning to Baker Street. I have arranged a small flat in Kensington for your use. If you dislike it we can find something that is more to your tastes in a few days’ time.’

I was overcome with anger at the high handed tactics of the Holmes brothers.

‘Why am I not returning to my home Mycroft?’

‘Sherlock has asked if I can find you somewhere better suited.’

‘Better suited to what?’

‘I believe he means better suited to maintain your protection.’

‘No’

‘Sorry?’ he raised his eyebrows as he said this but remained calmly sitting.

‘No, neither you or your brother have any power over me, I pay rent and have a contract at Bakers Street . That is my home and you can fuck off if you think I am rolling over and doing whatever Sherlock thinks is best. This is all his idea isn’t it?’

The smirk Mycroft gave me was as good as verbal confirmation. ‘You are determined to remain at Bakers street then? And there is nothing I can do to dissuade you?’

‘YES I am staying and NO there is nothing you can do to change my mind’ I practically growled at him.

‘Very well. Excuse me but I have some plans that need alteration.’ He then pressed a speed dial on his phone which was swiftly answered.

‘Ah Anthea as we suspected, Miss Dixon will not be requiring our relocation services. If you could step down what I believe Dr Watson refers to the MI6 Ikea division’ There was a slight pause then before he continued with ‘Yes Anthea it is really not that funny….. When has the French foreign Minister been re-arranged for?….Well I do prefer to deal with her before lunch but needs must…..Thank you Anthea I will be back in the office within a couple of hours.’ As he hung up he raised his face to look at me with a genuine smile before he made a last comment before falling back to silence for the rest of the journey. ‘My mother is a very astute woman, her earlier comment was indeed correct. You are very good for my brother.’

 

The car purred to a stop in front of the black door with the skewed door knocker, and I practically leapt from the car in my haste to berate Sherlock. I was one second away from slamming the door behind me when I paused to consider Mycroft’s role in this. ‘Why are you helping me Mycroft? You and I both know that this whole engagement thing is a fabrication, by getting me out the way you would have won; no more me and Sherlock would be back to being your mothers pet project in matchmaking.’

‘I stopped playing that game a fair while ago Miss Dixon. I refer you back to my comment earlier today. Good luck my dear.’ And with that he leaned over closing the passenger door and the car glided away to be lost in London traffic once more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation doesn't go as Megan planned.

I stood in the doorway of the living room glaring at the figure holding his knees to his chest in his chair. Mr observant knew I was there but was yet to acknowledge my presence. Turning back to the hall I entered through the kitchen door and moved to fill the kettle with water before putting it on to boil. I caught glimpses of Sherlock and knew he was now watching me cautiously. 

Once I had made my cup of tea I carried it back to the living room placing it on the table. I picked up a book settling in the comfortable red chair directly opposite him, curling my legs up under me and opening the book as if I had no intention of leaving anytime soon. The short spell of silence that followed was broken by Sherlock.  
‘I was under the impression that Mycroft was going to broach the changes in your living arrangements with you. Did he fail to do so?’ On glancing up I saw that he had adopted his blank emotionless mask once again. Slowly I closed the book putting it on the arm of the chair, taking a sip of tea before replying.  
‘No he did explain your idea for our new living arrangements.’ I paused looking up and straight into his eyes, ‘and I did what I always do when confronted with a plan generated by an emotionally constipated Holmes.’ He just continued to stare for a few seconds before he slowly raised an eyebrow in question. ‘I rejected it.’  
His eyes screwed shut, when they opened again he sprung up out of his chair and exited the room without looking at me once. I heard his footsteps on the stairs and it took a few paces for me to realise that he was not leaving but making his way to my bedroom. I pulled myself up to follow him tea forgotten on the side.

He had almost finished pulling the entire contents of my wardrobe out onto my bed when I stepped into the room.  
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing Sherlock?’  
He stopped abruptly before taking a few sharp steps until he was standing over me ‘If you won’t do this of your own accord then I am throwing you out.’ He snarled in my face, teeth bared.  
I took a step closer and gave him a hard shove. ’As I pointed out to your darling brother you can’t make me do anything. You are not my landlord, you’re my flatmate. I have a signed contract for this place, I pay my rent same as you, I have just as much right to stay as you.’  
‘God you’re all so stupid. Can’t you see that it’s too dangerous to stay.’  
‘Don’t care.’  
He looked up sharply at that, before nimbly stepping around me and out the door. By the time I’d followed him back downstairs he was pacing in front of the sofa pulling at his curls in frustration.

I watched him pace for a while in the vain hope that his agitation would abate so that we could talk but he seemed to be caught in a constant loop. With a deep breath I move forward into his return path and as he turned I reached to hold him by the arms.  
‘Just listen to me for a minute please Sherlock.’ I asked the stiff limbed man in front of me. I will consider your plan if it is so important to you.’ He moved to go then and my hold on his biceps strengthened. ‘But I need the reasons why you want me to go; you can’t just send me away like a dismissed servant.’   
‘I gave you the reason it is too dangerous if you stay.’ He huffed as his hands that had been still at his sides started to rhythmically furl and unfurl into fists as he struggled to maintain his composure.  
‘No I need more clarification than that Sherlock’ I said gently, staring straight ahead at the wall of his chest. ‘I need to know who it is dangerous for? Me, you, both of us? If it’s dangerous to me why do you care? You’re a self-proclaimed High Functioning Sociopath, by definition you shouldn’t give a shit about anybody else. And why are you throwing me out when you never attempted to protect John by distancing yourself? What is different about me? Think about those questions and come find me when you have answers and we can have a conversation about it like adults.’ And with that I let go of him and left the room leaving him still and staring at the space I had just left. 

It was several hours later when Sherlock entered my room. After putting all my clothes back in my wardrobe I had attempted to read, watch TV and even considered going for a run before I gave up and just fell to the bed. I sat considering and re-running everything about the last week. Then I had moved on to considering how I really felt about Sherlock. I knew I loved him, of course I did I had really given up denying that to myself a while back, but there was now a very really possibility that I was going to have to give him up. I really wasn’t sure that I would be able to. I had coped being in love with him without his knowledge, I had coped when we started having regular sex, I had resigned myself to having what I could and struggling to be content with that, but after the events of the last few days I had to admit that Sherlock’s tenderness towards me had broken down my barriers and a small voice in the back of my head had started to argue that my feeling might not be as unrequited as I had imagined. It was that small glimmer of hope that made giving it all up unimaginable to me. 

He silently gestured at the bed and sat next to me against the headboard after I had given a small nod. We both sat silent for a while not looking at each other before Sherlock began to speak.  
‘We are putting you in danger by your continuation in habiting with me. I will always have enemies, dangerous enemies who will attempt to use you as a bargaining chip or as a way to inflict damage on me. That is why I arranged for you to leave, you will never be completely safe if you continue to associate with me.’ He stated like he was reciting a well-practiced speech, his voice even and steady with little inflection.   
‘I know that Sherlock. In fact I have known that for some time and I have come to accept that. Nobody knows what danger will befall them: I could be struck by a lorry tomorrow. I do know however that you and Mycroft have got me as well protected as you possibly can.’  
Sherlock's reply was terse. ‘Yes we do and yet you were still almost shot by a sniper yesterday. That is not acceptable. I can no longer put you in danger.’  
‘Why not? Much worse happened to John while he was living with you, but I don’t remember him telling me any stories about the time you attempted to throw him out.’  
‘John was a soldier, he thrives on danger. He married an ex assassin for Christ’s sake.’  
‘Right so you left him to make the decision about his own safety, why can’t you let me make my own decision?' I probed angrily.  
‘Because this is different.’ He hissed.  
‘How?’  
‘He was trained for danger.’  
‘He was a bloody army doctor Sherlock, not a trained infantry soldier. Stop spinning me lies and tell me the truth. It’s not actually that hard.’ I spat turning and facing him for the first time to find him staring at me with distaste.  
‘Oh yes because you always tell me the truth don’t you? Question for you now as my answers are so dissatisfactory. Why are you so adamant on staying?’  
‘Because I love you, you utter bastard.’ I hissed back at him.

I felt my face fall as I realised just what I had said. Silence fell over my room as I stared on in horror at Sherlock shocked face, his eyes rapidly blinking. When he came back to himself I had buried my face in my hands. I felt him lift himself from the bed and as he reached the door paused before saying calmly.   
‘Thank you for your honesty. I think we can agree that we both have some things to consider. ‘ Then he was gone and a minute later the front door shut and I was alone in the flat, face still in my hands as I tried to work out what the hell had just happened and if there was a way I could salvage any remnants of our relationship.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John helps when Megan asks and Sherlock reaches some conclusions.

-I think I have broken Sherlock! You’ve got to find him John. M  
-Don’t worry he’s a drama queen. I’m sure he’s actually fine. What happened? J  
-No you’ve got to find him. This is definitely a danger night. M  
-What happened? J  
-Megan? J  
-Megan? WHAT HAPPPENED? J  
I didn’t know what to say, how could I have been so stupid and ruined everything. I sat looking at my phone trying to work out what to tell John as each of his messages came in. My phone started to vibrate in my hand as a call from John rang out; with a deep breath I answered it.  
‘Megan?’  
‘Megan are you ok?’  
‘Itoldhimilovedhim’  
‘Sorry?’  
I took a breath before trying again, it was easier now I had already said it. ‘John I have been so stupid. I told Sherlock I loved him. He was throwing me out and we argued about it and I called him a bastard and told him I loved him. I have totally fucked up.’  
There was a long pause before John replied. ‘Do you love him?’  
‘Yes’  
‘Ok good. What did he do when you said it?’  
‘He left.’  
‘Ok but what exactly did he do? Talk me through his exact movements from the moment you told him.’  
‘I told him and he was shocked, did that rapid blinking thing he does when he’s really, really surprised by something, I couldn’t look at him anymore so I didn’t see what he did next. Then he moved to the door told me that we both had things to consider and left the flat straight away.’  
‘That’s not so bad. I don’t think you’ve broken him at least, I’ll find him Megan and attempt to talk to him.’  
‘Please John let me know when you find him. I need to know if he’s alright.’  
‘Will do Megan.’  
‘Thank you John.’  
After we had hung up I attempted to do something, but couldn’t do anything.

22 hours later and I was so close to phoning Mycroft and getting him to find Sherlock when Mary rang.  
‘Megan.’  
‘Has John found him?’  
‘No John was out looking for him when he walked in my front door.’  
‘He’s there? Is he ok?’  
‘Not sure. He hasn’t said a word, but that’s not unusual for him. He just walked in the door stared at me as he does, then removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to show me he hadn’t been shooting up. Since then he has been curled up on my sofa.’  
A wave of relief that he hadn’t apparently turned to drugs went through me and I let out a breath that I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding.  
‘Thank God.’  
‘Johns on his way back now so hopefully he can talk some sense into him. I’ll get him to call you later yeah?’  
‘Yes. Thank you Mary’

It was gone four in the morning when I got a text from John.  
-Megan, he hasn’t done anything stupid and I don’t think he’s likely to. He is trying to work this out you need to give him time to sort out the questions he has. I don’t think he’s ever had to think about this part of himself before and it is going to take some time for him to do that. J  
-Is he still with you? M  
-He’s upstairs in Amy’s room. I think he finds it soothing in there. J  
-Has he slept? M  
-I doubt it, he is Sherlock and he has a case on trying to work himself out, J  
-Look after him please. M  
-Sorry I know you would do that anyway. M  
-I will as much as he will let me. J

It was early afternoon the next time I heard from John. It was a simple three sentence text that let me know that Sherlock was talking to him.  
-You are right, he never tried to make me move out. He waited until my life was really threatened and then he died for me. He doesn’t want you to be hurt because of him. J  
The rest of the day I spent crying on the sofa, because I simply didn't know what else to do, until I fell asleep exhausted.

When I woke on the sofa, evening sunset gilding the leather cushion I was facing with a golden sheen, I gave an exclamation of anguish that yet another day had passed without me being able to put things to right with Sherlock. A slight noise from behind me had me looking over my shoulder to face the room and it was with shock that I found Sherlock sitting in his armchair, which had been rotated from its normal position so that it was now facing the sofa. I continued to stare at him in shock and I realised that the noise I had heard was him drumming his fingers against the soft leather. No matter how calm he was trying to portray himself as, sat primly in the chair legs crossed, jacket discarded and shirt sleeves pushed up; the twitching of his digits, including his sockless toes on the rug, were his tell that he was anything but calm.

I slowly turned my body until I was still curled up on the sofa but fully facing him now, the silence continued to stretch out between us. When he began to speak he did so softly, so softly I could barely hear him.  
‘I have admitted before that I am a difficult man. I have few virtues, do not suffer fools gladly, am generally un-agreeable and unlikeable. You need only go to Scotland Yard and ask the general consensus there to get that confirmed from what, most would judge, a fairly reliable source. So when you called me an utter bastard I could not and would not refute it.’  
‘Sherlock I am so sorry. I did not mean…’ He cut me off there as he began to talk over me whilst he stood from his chair  
‘Megan please allow me to finish. I have valued cold hard fact over everything else since I moved into adulthood, and I have stuck by the ethos taught to me at a young age that caring is not an advantage for all of my adult years. However my thoughts on this matter have gradually shifted over the last few years.’ By now he was stood over me, having travelled the short distance from his chair to the sofa and for once walking around rather than over the coffee table.  
‘I have few friends but those I have made have changed my attitude to’ he paused for a few seconds before continuing. ‘ to feelings in general and more specifically to those feelings involved in returning those aspects of friendship that have been bestowed upon me. I once believed that alone protected me. But John very wisely shook me of that notion and I have grown to believe that what he once told me was true and that friends protect people.’  
He slowly lowered himself until he was perched on the edge of the sofa bracketed between my stomach and my pulled up legs. He began to talk again head down looking to his lap.  
‘You do not need to apologise to me for either calling me an utter bastard or for telling me you love me.’ He finally looked up at me then and met my gaze. ‘As I said earlier I am a bastard, and loving somebody is never ever a bad thing that required an apology. I will never apologise for loving you.’ 

Tears rimmed my eyes when I realised what he had said. One of his hands was gently pushing at my knee so I pulled my legs back giving him the space to pivot his body until he was lying down on the sofa next to me. He shifted around until we were face to face. I hesitantly bought a hand to his face, gently running my thumb over his cheekbone. All my hesitancy left me when he pushed his face more firmly into my cupped hand.  
‘So we are alright then?’ I queried with a hopeful smile.  
‘We are far more than alright Meg.’ He said as his hand came to rest lightly on my hip. ‘I have never attempted this before and I will undoubtedly be atrocious at it, but this is what I want without a shadow of a doubt.’  
‘You had a million doubts when you left though?’  
‘Honestly yes. As to why you …felt as you did towards me and’  
I interrupted him ‘Not felt as I did, feel as I do.’ And having said that I buried my head into his shoulder and felt the muscles of his back flexing under my hand as he moved to hold me more firmly against him.  
‘Yes doubts as to why you feel as you do and what the emotions I had been suppressing were.’  
‘So you eventually went to John?’  
‘He keeps me right.’  
‘Obviously’

We stayed silently wrapped in each other’s arms for a few minutes exchanging soft kisses before I spoke up again. ‘Tea?’  
‘Mmm yes’ and he sat up swiftly before pulling me up to sit beside him. ‘I’ve got an experiment I think I’ll start with those eyeballs. I’m looking at the effect of various PH solutions on the lens, if you’d like to assist.’  
‘I think I’ll pass on any of your experiments involving body parts.’ I shot over my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen.  
I had filled the kettle and switched it on when I felt Sherlock’s arm fold around my waist as he whispered throatily in my ear ‘ That is a shame, I had a number of experiments lined up, that I was sure you would enjoy very much, involving various stimulus and your body parts.’ He then released me to remove the jar of eyeballs from the fridge and swung himself into a chair as if he hadn’t said a thing.  
I promptly made two cups of tea placing one on the table beside him. When he’d put the scalpel down I stepped behind him as if moving to the sitting room before swiftly leaning over to whisper in his ear ‘Sherlock Holmes you are a very bad man, you are my very bad man. I will reassess my availability for those experiments you have devised on a case by case basis.’ Having said that I pulled gently on his earlobe with my teeth before dropping a small, barely there, kiss to his neck just below. Then I continued on my way to the living room leaving him frozen in his chair.  
I hadn’t even had a sip of my tea when lips were falling on my neck, jaw and up my cheek before Sherlock’s hot breath was growling in my ear ‘New experiment, hurry it’s time sensitive.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is finally finished. I have lots of new ideas involving Meg and Sherlock so might start another new story involving them in a few months time, so watch this space! Thanks for all the lovely comments. They have helped motivate me to finish so much.  
> If anybody has any ideas/prompts about what they want to see in the future with Meg and Sherlock feel free to comment on here or let me know on Tumbler. I am RubyGem7.  
> Until then I've started working on another Sherlock/OFC piece that I am attempting to make more case fic (but still with plenty of fluff and smut!). Hopefully if it continues going well I'll start posting on here in a week or two.


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